


Flesh and Blood

by forbiddenquill



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, I don't like the Cursed Child series so I'd rather not mention any of that here in this fic, Post-Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Time Turner AU, based on a fic that i wrote a million years ago, unrequited Romione
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-06-07
Packaged: 2019-10-10 18:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 66,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17430887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forbiddenquill/pseuds/forbiddenquill
Summary: Scorpius breaks his father’s Time-Turner and ends up getting transported into the year 1998, when the Second Wizarding World War has already ended and where Draco Malfoy is still trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered world.With Scorpius’ arrival comes shocking revelations, burning questions, and a son’s image of a father Draco is sure he’ll never be able to live up to.More importantly, it’s Scorpius’s bright brown eyes, so unlike his own, that bug Draco the most.[alternatively, a multi-chapter fic where eight-year-old Scorpius follows Draco around the castle and tries to discover the secret identity of his mother]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Heyo. I can write straight fanfics too, you know. 
> 
> I wrote this fic way, way back in 2012. It was posted at harrypotterfanfiction.net and if you want to read my messy 13-year-old fanfiction, then be my guest. Here is the link: https://harrypotterfanfiction.com/viewstory.php?psid=316186&showRestricted
> 
> Note: I have not read any of J.K. Rowling's newest additions to the Harry Potter universe as I believe it contradicts a lot of what I grew up believing in. Instead of diving into that messy canon where apparently, Nagini used to be a woman and Voldemort has a child, I'd rather stick with what I know. Also, it's been a while since I actually wrote HP fanfiction, so please bear with me as I have to get my Wizard History straight. There might be a few contradictions but nothing that a few edits won't be able to fix. 
> 
> I wrote this fic after rereading Bex-chan's Isolation, which broke me all over again, so I do hope you give this fic a chance. Please leave a review as it would mean a lot to me. 
> 
> Kudos to you! 
> 
> Love, Mia.

 

 

> _“He wasn’t looking for a soulmate. That would require having a soul to share, and he’d sold his off long ago.”_  
>  _―_ Miranda Liasson, Heart and Sole

 

* * *

 

Scorpius wakes up to the sound of his father’s insomnia echoing against the walls of their modest Manor. It’s not the first time this has happened. In fact, for as long as Scorpius can remember, his father doesn’t really sleep that much at all. Every after bedtime, when Father would finish reading his story, Scorpius would shut his eyes and wake up only an hour later to the sounds of Draco Malfoy making coffee using only his hands. Of course, it made Scorpius wonder why he didn’t just use his wand, but he learned the hard way that his father was and is still a secretive man.

Uncle Blaise tells him that it’s because Draco had it rough, especially after the Second Wizarding World War but even that story is shared between hushed whispers and silent pats on the back. _Don’t ask your father about it_ , they tell him, even his own grandmother, _It’ll only make him feel worse._

Scorpius turns to face the bedroom door, focusing on the light seeping beneath the frame. He has wondered endlessly what his father did to pass the time by during the early hours of morning. Maybe he simply read. Or drank coffee. Or did work that he couldn’t finish at the office. Whatever it was, Scorpius knew that Father didn’t like to sleep and other than that, he didn’t like to talk about anything that involved himself.

Scorpius might only just be eight years old, but that doesn’t mean that he’s not observant to his father’s nightly routines.

Deciding that tonight is going to be a restless one, Scorpius slides out of his bed and pads across his room towards the bedroom door. His room isn’t as big as the rest of the other ones but the journey just to get out of it always seems like a huge leap. Maybe it’s because of the silence, since the Manor has always been silent, ever since he can remember, or maybe it’s because of the loneliness dragging itself across every crook and nanny in this building, making itself known, prominent and Scorpius’ only friend.

He takes a deep breath when the door creaks as it opens. The corridor is dark and empty, devoid of any vases and decorations that his grandmother once told him adorned the walls of the Manor. Blaise tells him that Draco doesn’t like looking at family portraits anymore and Scorpius has to wonder if it has anything to do with a notable missing figure in the family tree...

He hears more movement from beyond the living room. Father must be in his office, presumably working, as he would always say whenever Scorpius asked what he had been doing the night before. The young Malfoy treads carefully, trying not to make too much noise as he approaches his destination. All the curtains are drawn, but he can hear the wind howling outside, almost like a tormented banshee begging to be heard. But he can only hear the stirring of a spoon against a cup, the scratch of skin against paper, and what sounds like his father’s deep voice mumbling to himself, repeating a few key words that is too low for Scorpius to make out.

The door is slightly open, much to Scorpius’ surprise. Father always keeps his doors shut. It always proved to be a problem when he was still a kid, since he always sought for a presence not easily found in his own room. He leans forward, the orange light of a candle flickering shadows across his face, as he drinks in the sight of his father sitting at his desk, his head bent low and his arm moving, dragging across the parchment like he’s an artist trying to paint a masterpiece.

The silence is tense. There is the smell of coffee and... Smoke? Scorpius eyes a white stick sticking out of his father left’s hand, emitting a kind of white smoke that leaves no room to breathe. But Draco breathes it in like its nothing, and Scorpius makes the mistake of breathing it in too.

He starts having a coughing fit.

“Scorpius?” Draco calls out, immediately putting out the white stick onto the table.

Scorpius is still coughing by the time Father gets to him. The older Malfoy pulls out his wand, presses it against his son’s throat and whispers, ‘ _Anapneo.’_ Immediately, Scorpius’ lungs feel lighter again and his father starts rubbing his shoulders comfortingly as Scorpius manages to ask, “What was that?”

“Muggle habit,” Draco answers shortly, looking tense. “Why are you up so late?”

The only illumination they both have is the candlelight behind Draco’s back. It gives off an eerie vibe, especially since Scorpius can’t see his father’s face, except for the light glow of his grey eyes. For as long as Scorpius can remember, and he can remember further back than anybody else might, he has always admired his father’s characteristics and wished foolishly to grow up looking exactly like him: the same platinum blonde hair, the same grey eyes, the same pointed features but--

Apparently, he has his mother’s brown eyes.

It is a comment made by both his grandmother and Uncle Blaise. They look at his eyes and smile, because it reminds them of somebody else. Father doesn’t tell him about his mother. He doesn’t really tell him anything.

“You woke me up,” Scorpius answers.

Draco tilts his head to the side, frowning deeply. “I didn’t realize I was being loud,” he whispers, “Come on, I’ll tuck you back in.”

But persistence shakes Scorpius’ confidence forward and he looks over his father’s shoulder, pointing at whatever he was working on. He misses the tense way Draco follows his gaze.

“What were you doing, Father?” he asks, stifling back a yawn.

“Nothing you should concern yourself with,” Draco tells him firmly, scooping him up in his arms and dragging him back to the shadows of the Manor, far, far away from whatever it was that he was busy with. Scorpius tries to resist, but it’s no use. Father’s arms around him are tight, but not painful.

“Father,” Scorpius mutters against his neck when they reach his room again, “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Draco says ‘ _Lumos_ ’ and his wand emits a bright glow. Scorpius takes a quick glance around his room. It is filled with books and toys, so many of them that he hasn’t touched every single one. Whatever he asks for, his father has always provided. But with the silence coming from Draco and the never-ending questions that plagues his mind, Scorpius knows that those material possessions will never be enough to soothe his worries regarding his father’s behavior. Even though he has no idea how other fathers behave in the night, he knows that constantly being awake in the middle of the night is a bad thing.

His grandmother told him that much.

“I sleep,” his father answers, “You might not see it but I do sleep.”

“What were you doing tonight then?” Scorpius asks again as he is lowered under the covers of his bed. He tucks the blanket closer to his chin.

Draco sits on the edge of the mattress, hesitating slightly. “I was writing a letter,” he admits, “It’s work-related.”

There is a poignant pause. The only illumination they both have is from the light seeping through Draco’s wand. Scorpius raises his head to find his father staring intently at him, his mouth tense but his eyes soft. It is almost a paradox. There are often times where Scorpius looks at his father and wonders if there is love or hate mirrored behind those grey eyes.

“Scorpius,” Father finally begins, clearing his throat, “I know that I never told you this but today is a very important day.”

The younger Malfoy holds his breath. It is rare that his father actually volunteers some information so he takes in this opportunity and holds it in his hands like its a ball of light in a room full of darkness. His father shifts once more, apparently due to discomfort and when he looks away from his son’s gaze, Scorpius can clearly see a memory resurfacing in the pits of Draco’s eyes. Whether it is a good or bad one, he cannot say for certain.

“Today was the day I proposed to your mother,” Father whispers.

Scorpius’ eyes widen almost comically.

“You--you never talk about her,” he mumbles.

Father doesn’t respond. Instead, he tucks Scorpius in with a gentle warmth that he would’ve never expressed openly in public, almost as if he would be shunned for it. Scorpius can’t help but feel that same sad, lingering feeling of loneliness when Draco stands up, still holding his wand, and leaves quietly through the front door without another word. The unmistakable sound of a lock clicking in echoes through the empty room.

Scorpius sighs. It is expected. His father has always been like this: quiet, reserved and distant, but always there for him, taking up a space that would’ve usually been reserved by mothers. He has asked, of course. When he was younger, he would pester and nag for more details regarding his mother, but Father never budged. It seems likely that he only told him now of the proposal due to a sudden, emotional need. Scorpius had walked in on him writing a letter. Perhaps it wasn’t work-related at all.

He reaches under his pillow for a notebook. Inside are a few details and facts that he has managed to get from both Uncle Blaise and Grandmother regarding the mysterious woman who left them. It is too dark to see anything so he reaches towards the window above his bed to push aside the curtain and let the moonlight in, shedding some illumination across the pages.

At the very top, when Scorpius was only six, he had written: _Gryffindoor_ , which was clearly misspelled. It had been Grandma who told him this, a bit stiffly if he could remember correctly. The next item on his list is _brown_ eyes, which he had written only a year before. He hasn’t paid close attention to his own features, believing that he is the exact mirror copy of his father, but Uncle Blaise tells him that he is more alike to his mother than he knows.

And now--a date.

Scorpius excitedly writes in this new found information.

_September 19 - the day father proposed to mother._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clexa fandom, please don't kill me. Regarding the 'i have loved you since we were eighteen' fic, I was nearly halfway done with the whole thing when the motherboard to my laptop crashed and I didn't have a back-up of all the edits that I had already written. Hopefully, I can still retrieve it so fingers crossed for that one. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the prologue. Updates will be slow but certain. 
> 
> Thank you!


	2. Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I apologize in advance for all the Scorpius fanatics out there. Little Scorpy here might experience a few bruises and nosebleeds. But don't worry, it's not Draco-related. He just had a bad fall. Don't say I didn't warn you!

 

 

> _“I think about you. But I don't say it anymore.”_  
>  ― Marguerite Duras, Hiroshima Mon Amour

 

* * *

 

A few days after that night where Scorpius stumbled across his Father in his office, Uncle Blaise drops by for a visit. They aren’t blood-related at all but whenever he visits, Father always looks a tad bit happier, like Blaise offers some sort of comfort that Draco can’t find in the solace of his own Manor, which is sad when Scorpius thinks about it.

The younger Malfoy is reading in the living room when Uncle Blaise Floos in from the fireplace. Bright, green flames suddenly erupt out of nowhere, startling Scorpius and making him drop his book, _Hogwarts: A History._ From the flames emerges Blaise Zabini: tall, dark and handsome. He is wearing a dark green robe with his family name embroidered on the chest area. He dusts off some remaining Floo powder from his clothing before smiling widely at Scorpius.

“You read too much, Scorp,” Blaise tells him, grabbing the book from the floor and flipping through the contents. “Damn, I haven’t picked this thing up since fifth year.”

“I don’t have anything else to do,” Scorpius mutters.

Blaise barks out a laugh. “Clearly.”

There are footsteps coming from down the hallway, presumably Draco’s. Scorpius takes back his book without Blaise looking, snickering when his uncle nearly smacks him from behind the head. He flips back to a page he had been studying intently, which was a chapter regarding the Thestrals of Hogwarts, when he notices a few written lines on the top half of book. It looked like--a woman’s handwriting?

“Blaise!” Draco’s happy voice, which is one of the rarest sounds Scorpius has ever heard. The two older men shake hands firmly and Scorpius spots the easy grin written across his father’s face. Another rare sight to see. “What brings you here?”

“Just a visit,” Blaise answers in return, wrapping an arm around Draco’s shoulders and leading him away from the living room, “Wanted to see how you were doing. You’ve seriously got to let Scorpius do more chores around this place. He’s been reading that book since he found it in your stash.”

“Ah.” Draco meets Scorpius’ eyes over _Hogwarts: A History_. “I think that’s his favorite one.”

There’s a small silence. Scorpius spots the way Blaise tightens his grip on Draco’s shoulder. But the moment passes and the two men disappear into another room while Scorpius returns to inspecting the words he has spotted. The handwriting is very faint, almost like it was written years ago, but he can just make it out. Somehow, it reads: _sixth year at hogwarts: finally saw them with my own eyes._ It is clearly a woman’s handwriting, since the g’s and y’s are curled, the same way Grandmother usually curls her g’s and y’s whenever she teaches him to write every other day.

He came across this book a few months back, when his father was away for a trip and Blaise was the one who babysat him. It had been in the basement, tucked away with a few other schoolbooks from when Father was still a kid. It clearly wasn’t new, but Scorpius had heard so much about Hogwarts from both his father and uncle that he decided to read upon it.

But--maybe this _was_ his father’s handwriting. Scorpius doubts it. He’s seen the way his father writes in his letters. He doesn’t curl his g’s and y’s like this.

Deciding to investigate further, Scorpius slides out of the sofa and walks down the hallway, his book tucked safely under his arm. Whenever Blaise and Father get together, they always drink tea or bourbon (depending on the context of the visit) at the patio so he easily slips past their murmured voices and heads down the Archive room, where most of his Father’s letters were stored. The Archive room is directly adjacent to the patio, so when Scorpius shuts the door behind him (making sure to keep it locked) and ducks underneath the window to where he can see the top of his father’s head, he can hear their low voices but can’t understand them.

The Archive room is naturally well-kept. All the folders and boxes are arranged in alphabetical order. But other than a few shelves of papers, it’s quite empty, except for a single table overlooking one of the three windows. Every time Grandma stops by for a visit, she always makes sure that the Manor isn’t dusty, which she knows will end up being like so, since Father refuses to hire a house-elf. So when Scorpius starts rummaging a box titled _Ministry of Magic_ for letters from his father’s friends or colleagues, a few dust particles escape him but there’s less of it now that he doesn’t sneeze.

“...is Scorpius, by the way?” Blaise’s voice. The wind has somehow picked up conveniently and Scorpius lets his ears listen as he reads through the countless work letters Father has, _Hogwarts: A History_ propped open next to him.  

Judging by the terse silence, Scorpius can guess that his father just gave a noncommittal shrug.

“He’s a strange kid, huh?” Blaise adds.

“Not really,” Draco answers in return, voice rough, “Reminds me of someone I know.”

Scorpius pauses, his curiosity peaking. The letters he has read are usually printed so he can’t compare the handwriting. However, he comes across a written one from an unsigned source but it bears an important sigil from the Ministry of Magic. When he hastily opens it, holding his breath, it takes him a few seconds to actually read it through:

 

_M,_

_She’s fine. But it’s safer if you don’t talk to her._

_People are listening._

_H_

 

There was no date.

“When do you plan on telling him?” Blaise asks Draco suddenly. Their voices are softer now, and Scorpius puts down the letter to lean closer against the wall of the Manor, trying hard to listen in. His heart feels like a thousand centaurs are running inside it and he tries to push away the contents of the mysterious letter out of his head so that he can understand the conversation he’s eavesdropping on.

There’s a long silence. The only thing Scorpius can hear is his breathing.

“He’s stopped asking for stories,” his father says, his voice heavy with what felt sounded like remorse, “When he was younger, he’d pester me everywhere, asking where she went. I was about to go mad. But then, all of a sudden, he just _stopped_. I don’t know what happened. Maybe he got tired. But it really bothered me.”

“It shouldn’t. He’s a kid. They’re like little ADHD dogs. They can’t focus on one thing.”

Scorpius snorts but manages to keep the small sound to himself. There’s a rustle of leaves from out in the patio and the clinking of china. Father takes an absurd amount of time to reply, which sets Scorpius on edge.

“I told him last night,” his father says and Scorpius lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding in.

“About yesterday? It was all over the bloody news.”

“Not _that_.” Another pause. “I told him it was the day I proposed to his mum.”

“Ah.”

Scorpius looks back at the letter in his hands and then back at the book. The writing is not similar at all. But there’s something about the _H_ that feels strikingly important. Like it’s a symbol that bears weight and meaning. He runs his fingers across the parchment, wishing that he already had his wand so that he could find for more clues. But he’s only eight. And his magic isn’t as strong as his father’s. He can only manage to flick on a few lights in his own room when he’s upset.

“How’s work?” Draco asks Blaise and the stilted conversation about the mother dies away.

Scorpius tucks the letter inside his dress robes and rearranges the box of Father’s work letters. He didn’t exactly find what he was looking for but this seems enough. This seems important. He’s about the carry the box back to where he found it when he trips suddenly on his own robes.

The box in his hands crashes to the floor and the contents spill everywhere: letters, notices and more papers sliding to the ground where they lay open, bare and vandalized for both Draco and Blaise to see. It is obvious that he was snooping around and Scorpius groans at what is definitely going to be an earful from both his father and uncle. He struggles to get up, his knees wobbly from the fall and his chin sore from the impact against the hard, cement floor. He can already hear the two adults rushing back inside the Manor and his eyes dart around in panic at the mess he has made.

All he can see is the papers all strewn around the floor. Rubbing his chin, he tries to stuff them all back into the box before his father gets here when he notices something glinting underneath a shelf.

“Scorpius?” he hears his dad outside the door.

“Did it come from the office or the Archives?” Blaise’s voice, clear and close.

Scorpius’ eyes are still fixed on the object under the shelf. Then the door to the Archive room starts twisting and he dives forward, reaching frantically towards an unseen matter. He disregards the dust that makes his lungs want to squeeze up and catches hold of the object. It’s circular in shape and seems to have two rings attached to it. He retracts his arm, staggers to a standing position and plops back against the wall, holding the object in his hand.

It looks like an hourglass.

“ _Alohomora.”_ Father’s voice. The door swings open. Draco stands in the doorway with his wand raised and Blaise standing behind him. Their eyes widen when they see him holding the hourglass.

“Scorpius!” Draco yells, fury crossing his features and Scorpius has never seen such emotion in his father’s face before that he drops the hourglass out of fear. His curiosity and wonder at having discovered what looked like a necklace has turned to dread and anxiety. Turning his face away from his father, he hears the crack of the glass. Like a pin dropping.

“No, Scorp!” Blaise steps forward when Scorpius bends down to pick it up, his ears burning, “Don’t touch it!”

“Do _not_ pick that up!” Father’s voice, growing angrier and more agitated.

“I--I _broke_ it,” Scorpius sputters, tears trickling the back of his eyes. “I can fi--fix it, I swear!”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his father dashing forward to prevent him from touching the hourglass but it’s too late. When he picks it up with his left hand, the rings around the object suddenly start to spin out of nowhere and he raises his head to meet the panicked look in his father’s eyes just as he’s about to slap the necklace away.

But he doesn’t make it.  

Almost like he’s in a dream, Scorpius watches as time reverses itself. He sees Draco and Blaise run backwards to the patio, the exact same way before but only backwards. Voices start to melt together in his head--voices he’s never heard before, talking all at once at such a volume that it becomes painful. He shuts his eyes when the world itself starts to spin, still holding onto to the necklace because instinct is telling him to. He can feel his brain just struggling to hold on, his legs shaking at their knees, his teeth clattering inside his mouth. The world continues to spin and it feels like he’s being Flooed away into another dimension, because there are so many things happening all at once that his body just seems physically unable to endure it.

Just as he feels blood trickling down his nose, the world rights itself. The floor beneath him disappears and his body falls from a short height in the ceiling. When he slams against the ground, stars erupt from the back of his eyelids. Dizzy and trying his best to regain his footing, the last thing he can remember before succumbing to the exhaustion of his body are a pair of yellow eyes staring at him next to where he had fallen and the sound of gravely old man’s voice saying,

“Mrs. Norris, what do you think Mr. Malfoy is doing out here?”    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're still following with the storyline. Next chapter is definitely going to be tricky since I have to dive back into Hogwarts all over again. But once again, please leave a comment to tell me what you think is wrong or if you liked the overall flow of the story. 
> 
> See you next chapter! 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	3. Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somebody pointed out that Time-Turners only change the time, not the setting. Well, I got an explanation for that in the chapter below, which I hope will be deemed worthy enough for your Harry Potter knowledge. Besides, this is magic we're talking about. If Voldemort can have a daughter even though he is most likely a 70 year old virgin then Time-Turners can transport people to locations too! Anything is possible, right?

 

> _“Sons want their father's attention until the precise moment when fathers want their sons'.”_  
>  ― Fredrik Backman, Us Against You 

 

* * *

 

A hand shoots out to grab Scorpius by the scruff of his collar and he blinks back into consciousness to find a ghastly and hideous man staring straight into his eyes, a few teeth missing from the gnarly grin he’s wearing. The younger Malfoy yelps but winces when the sound makes his ears throb and his head hurt.

“What are you doing lying here, Malfoy?” the old man demands, shaking him, “I don’t recall you being _shorter._ ”

“Let go of me!” Scorpius yells, his voice bouncing against the walls of the castle. Wait-- _castle_? He stops his struggle for a few seconds to gaze around in amazement. It seems like he’s standing in the middle of a castle, complete with archways, suits of armor, large paintings of thousands of noble witches and wizards, and stone statues of important figures in history. Scorpius recognizes a gigantic statue of Salazar Slytherin towards a corner leading downstairs, eyes slanted like a snake’s and scowl so permanently fixed on his face that he looks forever constipated.

_Is this place--?_

The taste of blood jolts him out of his reverie. That, and the fact that the old man is still shaking him.

“Where am I?” Scorpius demands, scuffling around so much that the old man has no choice but to let go. “Who are you? Where’s my father?”

“Aren’t you a little old to be calling out for your father?” the old man grumbles.

Scorpius, breathing heavily, startles when a large grayish cat meows at him from the ground. The yellow eyes are taunting and wise, setting Scorpius on edge as he tries to make sense of the situation. He watches as the cat slinks away before turning his attention back to the person who discovered him. Now that he has gotten a closer look at the old man, he vaguely realizes just how familiar he looks. The kind of familiarity one might get from flipping through old picture albums and recognizing relatives from so long ago.

“It’s way past bedtime,” the old man starts saying, “You know that you Slytherins are under the watchful eye of the Headmistress so c’mere.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue but he can’t find a name to match with the face. So instead, he just backs up a couple more steps and in doing so, hears glass breaking from beneath his feet.

He looks down. It’s the hourglass. But this time, it looks more broken than before.

“No, no, no!” Panic seizes Scorpius with its vice like grip and he drops on his knees to gather the remains of the hourglass. All he’s thinking about is the fact that he has somehow transported to this place with the help of this stupid hourglass and now that it’s broken and gone, so is his way back home. He pushes past the throbbing headache at the back of his head and the blood dripping down his nose as he stares in dejection at the crushed glass and the broken rings of the mechanism.

It doesn’t even look like hourglass he picked up a mere twenty minutes ago.

“What do you have here, Malfoy?” the old man, whom Scorpius nearly forgot about, mutters darkly as he bends down to pick up _Hogwarts: A History_ , another object that apparently came along to this little trip.

“That’s mine,” Scorpius says weakly, trying to stand. He tucks the ruined hourglass into the pockets of his dress robes and wipes the blood from his lip. Now that the initial fear and confusion has passed, all that is left is pure, undiluted exhaustion. It pulls at his bones and makes his feet heavy. Merlin, what he’d give for a nice bed to sleep on. “Can you tell me where I am?” he asks the old man, pushing forward and trying to grab the book out of his grimy hands.

“Not until you come with me to the Headmistress’ office,” he spits out, pulling the book out of the younger boy’s reach. “You’ve broken curfew, Malfoy, and you need to face your punishment. Oh, boy. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to punish students.”

“I’m not even a student here,” Scorpius snarls, “I just want my book back.”

The old man scowls. “C’mere.” He reaches forward for the front of Scorpius’ robes, who manages to dodge it sluggishly. “We’re heading to the Headmistress’ office.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Scorpius snaps, “My father taught me not to trust strangers.”

“You’ve been here for bloody seven years, Malfoy, I doubt that you’d think of me as a strang--”

“I have no idea who you are,” Scorpius presses, turning away and trying to find a way out, his heart hammering loudly inside his chest, “I just need to find a way back to my dad and everything will be fine.”

“After the war ended, wouldn’t have pegged you to still be attached to your father,” the old man snidely says and Scorpius is so startled by the offhanded comment that he doesn’t react to the hand that immediately grabs the back of his robes.

“What are you talking about?” Scorpius manages to choke out just as the old man drags him away, far from the statue of Salazar Slytherin. “I’m perfectly content with my father!”

“Big surprise.”

The old man, despite being old, continues to drag him away with superb strength. Scorpius tries to free himself from such an iron grip but what happened earlier with the hourglass has left him drained. After a while of needlessly struggling, he finally relents to his fate and lets himself be dragged away. He looks around his surroundings as they continue to head to Merlin-knows-where, rounding corners and climbing flights of stairs. It definitely looks like a castle and he slowly comes to realization that this is--no way--this couldn't be--

“Are we at Hogwarts?” Scorpius voices out.

“Where the bloody hell are we if we’re not at Hogwarts,” is what the old man replies gruffly.

That seems to be answer enough. They come across a corridor with no paintings in sight but instead, where a large gargoyle statue stands at the end of it. The old man roughly pushes Scorpius towards the gargoyle and mutters ‘ _Percival’_ under his breath. To Scorpius’ shock, the gargoyle turns to the side, revealing a staircase behind it, leading to what looks like a tower at the very top.

Scorpius glances back at the corridor. It has grown dark behind them, as if the light was following their shadows. He thinks of his father then, and even though barely an hour has passed, he misses him now. The last image he has of him is the look of fury across his features when he picked up the hourglass. Now he wishes that he hadn’t gone into the Archives in the first place.

The old man pushes Scorpius again. “Go on,” he sneers.

Scorpius wipes at his face once more. The taste of blood is still in his mouth. He climbs up the steps of the staircase, thinking that the gargoyle might jump at his face any second now and giving it a hesitant glance, before picking up the pace and getting to the very top. When he emerges, he sees a single door leading to a room where classical music is playing. Apprehensive, he allows himself to be pushed once more by the old man before he knocks.

The music stops. Then the door swings open to reveal a large office, filled with towers of books and portraits of people all sleeping in their frames. The whole place seems to be in motion. There’s an owl perched on top of a staircase leading to the second floor, its beady yellow eyes staring straight at Scorpius. There are papers stacking and arranging itself into neat little stacks before diving into folders and boxes. And in a little corner, a house-elf is sweeping the floor. It cowers away at the sight of Scorpius.

“What is it, Mr. Filch?” a woman’s voice calls out. Scorpius looks up to find an elderly witch reading through a letter and descending down the steps of the second floor. Her grey hair is tied in a high bun, her eyes stern from behind her glasses and her mouth unsmiling. She hasn’t seen Scorpius yet, so the young Malfoy resists the urge to take a step back.

“Malfoy here was found asleep in the middle of the corridor, Headmistress,” the old man named Filch says, “I brought him here to report on his behavior.”

“Must you, Argus?” The Headmistress still hasn’t looked up from her letter. “If you plan on bringing every stray student into my office at this time of night, then I’m afraid we’re going to have a problem.”

“But it’s Malfoy--”

“Regardless of Mr. Malfoy’s past crimes,” the older witch proceeds, settling behind her table filled with more letters, papers and books, “the Ministry has forgiven him. Why can we not?”

“What do you mean ‘past crimes’?” Scorpius questions out loud.

A silence so thick Scorpius can practically feel it land on his shoulders envelops the room. The Headmistress raises her eyes and looks straight at the young Malfoy. A look of unprecedented shock passed through her features. It takes Scorpius several long seconds but then he realizes why she also looks vaguely familiar as well. He read about her turning 78 years old a little while back.

But she looks younger than the picture he saw.

“You’re Professor McGonagall,” he says in awe.

“Of course, you dimwit,” Filch says behind him, making Scorpius turn around as well.

It _clicks_. No wonder the old man looks familiar too. Scorpius has seen his face on several pictures when his father graduated from Hogwarts. He’s Argus Filch, the caretaker of the school. And he’s currently scowling at Scorpius again.

So the hourglass he broke was some sort of Portkey?

“Mr. Malfoy,” says Professor McGonagall, drawing his attention back to her. She puts down her glasses and sighs, as if the sight of Scorpius Malfoy has given her a more painful headache than all the papers sitting in front of her, “Will you care to explain why you look like you’re in an eight year old’s body? Did you drink something during Potions class?”

“But,” Scorpius begins, confused as well, “this has always been my body.”

“So you expect me to believe that the eighteen year old Draco Malfoy I saw during dinner earlier was just an illusion?” If it’s possible, the lines around McGonagall’s face seem to deepen with disapproval. “I don’t find this funny at all.”

Scorpius grows even more confused. “What are you talking about?” he asks and the blank look she gives him in return makes his knees wobble. Oh great. The journey here is starting to get to him again. He rubs the back of his head as he rummages around his dress robes to pull out the remains of the hourglass necklace. He steps closer to show it to McGonagall.

“My name is Scorpius Malfoy,” he says, looking her in the eye so that she’ll know he’s being truthful, “and Draco Malfoy is my father. I was just in our Manor when I found this Portkey under the shelf. When it broke and I touched it, I found myself here, in Hogwarts. This is Hogwarts, right? I’ve never been here before.”

McGonagall continues to give him that blank stare. But then she takes a look at the broken hourglass in his hand and does a double-take.

“Mr. Filch,” she suddenly calls out, the urgency in her tone startling him and Scorpius glances over his shoulder to see Filch springing into action, eyes wild, “Please call Draco Malfoy from the Slytherin Common Room. This concerns him gravely and please do hurry.”

The caretaker immediately leaves, shutting the door behind him. Scorpius looks back at the Headmistress, who takes the remains of the hourglass and inspects it with her wand. She is determined and focused, her eyes never leaving what Scorpius broke nearly an hour ago. Without needing to hear her tell him about it, Scorpius is already pretty sure that he’s in big trouble.

His mind is going a hundred miles per hour. What’s going on? Why is he at Hogwarts? Was the hourglass a Portkey? Why did McGonagall call him his father? Where is his father? Shouldn’t he be looking for him right now? He can feel the cold seeping into his skin, like every warmth in his body has simply just vanished in the blink of an eye. The fall he endured earlier seems like a slap to the face, a mere nuisance compared to the fear and confusion he feels right now. Holding back the contents of his stomach, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

When the young boy speaks again, his voice is shaking, “But my father is at the Manor,” he tells her, “Why would he be at the Common Room?”

“I’m sorry, Scorpius,” McGonagall tells him, looking up from the hourglass and shaking her head. He can feel himself bracing for what might come out of her mouth, even though he doesn’t really know what to expect, “but this isn’t a Portkey. It’s a Time-Turner. When you broke it, I believe that it went back millions of hours into the past and transported you to a location where _you_ were, at that time. But because you weren’t been born yet in this century, it went to the closest thing.”

Scorpius’ eyes widens. “Are you saying--”

“Yes.” McGonagall straightens up when she hears thundering footsteps and raised voices near her office door. “The closest thing we have to you is your father--”

The voices are closer now. The sound of two arguing men can be heard from inside the Headmistress’ office. Scorpius turns around just in time for the door to swing open and for Argus Filch to drag a loud and cranky eighteen-year-old Draco Malfoy inside the room, his blonde hair and pointed features unmistakably like Scorpius' very own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo. It's me again. Wow, I am on a roll over here. I've updated thrice in like three days. I just really love this AU so much that I literally cannot stop writing about it. I hope you enjoyed this chapter because the next one will be up in like 24 hours, hopefully. Please leave a comment to give me an insight of your thoughts. I would love to hear them! 
> 
> That's all.
> 
> Love, Mia.


	4. Insomnia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope you're still enjoying the storyline. Man, when I wrote about this fic AU like six years ago, I gave all these characters such out-of-character models that it became so cringey. Raise your hands if you think Draco shouldn't immediately warm up to his own kid, even though it is his flesh and blood lmao. 
> 
> Anyway, keep on reading, fellow Potterhead.

 

> _“The creak of bed springs suffering under the weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound as I know.”_  
>  ― Patrick deWitt, The Sisters Brothers 

 

* * *

 

_Fucking hell._

Draco was actually having a good night’s sleep, for once. It’s not strange for anybody not to be awake at some point in the night after the war. He has encountered many Slytherins in the Common Room a little past after three, staring at the fireplace or even just making a cup of tea. They all share the same sleep-deprived stare, anxiety-ridden shoulders and shaky, tense fingers just itching to hold something real in their hands. Draco doesn’t blame them. He’s been through it. He has been through it since fifth year, ever since his father Lucius was taken away to Azkaban and he was tasked with killing Albus Dumbledore, of all people.

But it still gets a little annoying when Draco wakes up, expecting to find some peace and quiet in the Common Room, only to find three other people in the same purgatory that he’s in.

But being woken up by _fucking_ Filch of all people--now that just outright _pisses_ him off.

“What the bloody hell does McGonagall want now?” Draco growls angrily as Filch pushes him into the Headmistress’ office after violently shaking him awake from his bed back in the Slytherin Common Room.

“You’ll see, Malfoy,” Filch says, “No complaining now.”

“You fucking interrupt the only time I get to sleep and you expect me not to _complain_?”

Filch just shoves him.

Draco nearly trips on the staircase behind the gargoyle after Filch says the password and he spends the rest of the climbing time thinking of other derogatory words that make up what a Squib is. He’s clad in his ivory green pajamas, paired with the Malfoy sigil embroidered against his chest, which proves to be a piss-poor choice for clothing since it’s freezing inside McGonagall’s office. He tries not to let his hands shake when they reach the door and the stupid caretaker barks at him to move out of the way.

“Piss off, wanker,” Draco mutters darkly, crossing his arms, “Next time you interrupt my sleep, I’m setting your bed on fire.”

The door swings open and Filch grabs Draco by the scruff of his collar and drags him inside the office. The contrast of the dark corridors in comparison to McGonagall’s brightly lit office gives Draco’s eyes a difficult time to adjust to the change. He raises his hand to ward off the light coming from the room and takes a few more steps inside.

He can’t remember the last time he was here--when Dumbledore was still Headmaster.

“Good evening, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall greets, “I do hope you’ll keep your foul language to yourself as we have a child in the room with us.”

“Evening, my ass. It’s like 2 in the morning,” With his hand still up, Draco blinks at the brightness, trying to adjust faster. He hears Argus Filch leave the room, slamming the door behind him. “Anyway, what the hell do you want? And why do I care if there’s a bloody kid in the room?”

“Because the child is yours.”

Draco drops his hand. Standing in front of him, other than the old hag, is a younger carbon copy of Draco. He seems to be about 7 to 9 years old, with the same sleeked back blonde hair and sharp features that Draco had when he was a kid. The one thing that immediately catches Draco’s attention are the bright, brown eyes that doesn’t mirror his own. The kid looks healthy enough, looks _Malfoy_ enough, that the very sight of him doesn’t immediately set Draco off into a rage.

It’s like _deja vu._ Like he's staring at a mirror into the past or something.

“What the fuck?” Draco says instead, rubbing the back of his neck.

McGonagall sighs at his language. The kid doesn’t step forward. He and Draco seem to be locked in a standstill, neither reaching out nor backing away.

“I’m sorry to point this out bluntly, Professor,” Draco drawls, his eyes moving from eyebrow to lip and trying to catch anything else that might not be similar to his, “but I didn’t have any sex until I was like in fifth year. Pretty sure that a baby has to go through being a baby before it ends up like _this_.”

 _No_ , he thinks to himself quietly, _it’s only the eyes._

“Very amusing, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall says, clearly not amused, “but this young man here, Scorpius, if you may, comes from the future. He used a Time-Turner to get here.”

“Time-Turner?” Draco’s frown deepens. “Last I heard, they were destroyed during the Battle at the Department of Mysteries.” He doesn’t mention that it was his father who told him.

“Afraid so,” the old hag agreed, “but apparently, Scorpius found it at your Manor. When he broke it, he was transported here.”

Draco looks back at the boy. _Scorpius._ The tradition of naming children after constellations have been passed through. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at his supposed son, who is still looking at him, wide-eyed. Draco is certain that he wasn’t as ignorant as this, when he was still a kid.

“What do you plan on doing with him?” he asks the Headmistress.

“I will ask the Ministry for assistance,” replies McGonagall, “but it may take time to fix the Time-Turner that Scorpius broke. I believe that it is both in your best interest if you keep an eye on your son, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco reels back. “I’m going to be babysitting him? How certain are you that he’s not some kind of spy?” he questions haughtily, “The war is fresh, Professor. There are still resistances everywhere. I wouldn’t be so quick to trust anybody, especially people who look like me.”

He sees the kid blink in confusion. McGonagall shakes her head, looking as if she’s not even going to try to go down _that_ road.

“I’ve checked the Time-Turner. It’s not from this time. If you wish to be sure, we could have the truth potion--”

“I’m not _lying_!” the boy yells all of a sudden, looking furious at Draco, “Why won’t you believe me? I’m your _son_!”

“Hate to break it to you, kid,” Draco spits back, turning away from the brown eyes because it bothers him, “but I don’t have a son.”

The words look like they’ve slapped the kid across the face. His eyes widen and his mouth drops. The very image of a person who looks like he’s been disowned by his father. Draco doesn’t even want to know how _that_ feels. He grits his teeth and looks away from the kid. He doesn’t really know _what_ to feel. Last year, he had been trying to get as far away as possible from The Dark Lord, uncertain if he even has a future, and now he’s staring at one straight in the face.

It’d be an understatement if he says that he’s not the slightest bit terrified.

“Regardless of your feelings about this, Mr. Malfoy,” the Headmistress says, her sharp eyes sizing Draco behind her glasses, “you don’t have a choice in the matter. He obviously can’t stay here in my office and the Ministry is far too busy to worry about a Time-Turner gone wrong. It might do you some good to actually see how you raised this boy.”

Draco scowls. He has a few colorful words to call this entire situation but when the old hag gives him another severe stare, he has to bite his tongue. During the Welcoming Feast, he and a few other Slytherins were told not to put even a single toe out of line, especially since they were also under the watchful eye of the Ministry. It was a miracle that he was allowed to step back into Hogwarts in the first place.

It had been Mother’s decision. _Pretend like everything is fine_ , she had told him the night he left for his seventh year.

“Fine,” he mutters, looking away, “I’ll keep an eye out for him.”

The kid doesn’t look up.

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” the Headmistress says stiffly, “You may return to the Common Room. Scorpius” --the kid looks up, his shoulders tense-- “I believe that I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at 3. Here, in my office. I’ll have to verify your story with the Minister of Magic.”

“But, I’m--”

“It is only a precaution.”

“I--okay.”

Draco watches as the kid gathers himself. Now that he’s more focused on him than the situation itself, he can clearly see that the kid seems well off. He has the finest robes, probably from the same tailor that the Malfoys always go to, with their family sigil embroidered at the chest pocket area. Draco subconsciously glances at his own robes, notes the similarity of the sigils and has to commend his future self for apparently being not broke.

After the war happened, the Malfoys went bankrupt. They had to pay a considerable amount as bail money for Lucius, who was not as lucky as his wife and son. Both Draco and Narcissa were pardoned, which was mostly thanks to Potter, who personally Apparated to the Manor to thank Narcissa for saving his life. They’re still rebuilding after what happened at the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco still has nightmares. He can’t remember the last time he had a full 12 hours of sleep. He can’t remember the last time he looked at his own father and was grateful that he was still alive.

He wonders if the kid looks at _him_ as his dad. He has to wonder if he can even see himself as being a _dad_.  

“I’m going back to bed,” he tells the old hag, turning around and swinging the door forward. The staircase is still open. He rushes downstairs, already wanting to get back to his bed, but when he hears footsteps following him, he nearly groans out loud. Right. He’s still babysitting.

He looks over his shoulder and finds the kid looking up at him, his mouth curled in a sort of pout. They’re at the foot of the gargoyle, staring straight into each other. Draco eyes the features of the kid’s face, at the furrow of his eyebrows and the quiver of his bottom lip before finally settling into the color of his eyes.

It bothers him, it really does.

He lets out another sigh. “Look, kid,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head, “I don’t know why you ended up here, okay? But don’t look at me like I’m your father or something. I’ve got enough problems already.”

“You’re not my dad,” the kid says, “Father wouldn’t say those things.”   

“Good that you know,” Draco comments, “I’m pretty sure that _your_ father is as deadbeat as mine. My only salvation was my mother.”

“Good that you had one then,” the kid snaps back, brushing past him and heading towards the Slytherin Common Room, even though he probably doesn’t know where it is.

Draco is shaken. The thought of his future son growing up without a mother makes his heart feel somewhat _strange_. Like a sudden weight has pierced it. He bites his lower lip, thinking of his own mother, and pities the kid for not growing up without one. He briefly wonders what happened to his future wife but realizes that’s probably a situation he can’t properly face, since it’s not possible to find the answer here. He’s pretty sure that the kid doesn’t know anything as well. If he’s about to grow up into his dad, he knows for certain that some things will stay secrets.

“Hey.” It’s his carbon copy again, having returned from his little adventure. His cheeks are red, probably from embarrassment. “I don’t know where to go.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and starts walking, not once looking back but making sure that he can still hear the footsteps of the kid trailing after him. In the silence that follows them, Draco thinks to himself. It seems like cruel fate that he has to meet this kid, especially when its the aftermath of the war. He can barely keep his studies altogether, much less babysit on a child who looks to be no older than ten. He probably doesn’t even own a wand yet. Draco groans to himself at the task at hand. Fucking McGonagall.

They head downstairs from the main entrance, descending down several steps that are adorned with low-lighting torches. Draco feels the familiar coldness of the dungeons, is thankful for the cool breeze that passes through his body and steps into the Slytherin Common Room, where a few Slytherins have fallen asleep on the couch while fighting off the insomnia. Draco sees Blaise on one of them, a book in his chest and his hand draped across his eyes.

The kid stops walking suddenly.

Draco glances over his shoulder. “What is it?” he asks roughly.

“That’s Uncle Blaise, right?” the kid asks, a look of awe written all over his features.

Draco frowns, glancing at his friend who is snoring lightly. “You know him?”

“Uh huh. You’re still friends with him. He’s my godfather but I think of him as as uncle.”

“Well, that’s nice of me to actually grant you a godfather.” Draco smiles to himself. He had a few godfathers growing up but most of them either died or were taken away to Azkaban. Out of all the ones he’s had, Blaise Zabini might actually be the best godfather he’s heard of.

The kid rubs his hands together, looking around uncertainly. “Where do I sleep?”

“There’s a spare bed for the seventh years who didn’t come back,” Draco mutters, “You can make yourself home there. You know how to tuck yourself in, right? I don’t have to read you a stupid bedtime story, do I?”

The kid looks like he’s going to say something but apparently changes his mind halfway through. Draco nods to himself, thinking that he’s not exactly the type of father who reads stories to his kids before leading the way towards the seventh years’ dorm rooms. It leads deeper into the dungeon, which deems it to be colder than any part of the castle. Draco runs his fingers along the walls, feeling for the serpent-like handholds that come every few steps, which the kid doesn’t find because he manages to trip on his robes once in a while.

When they get to the dorms, Draco is thankfully relieved to find the other three seventh-years to be asleep. He doesn’t think he can endure answering a few questions about why there’s a younger version of him sleeping with the rest of the guys. He slides into his bed nearest the window, glancing at the view of the Hogwarts lake. The Giant Squid seems to be fast asleep too.

Draco looks over to find the kid glancing around.

“Go to bed,” the older Malfoy instructs, “and don’t go wandering around until I wake up. I don’t want to be expelled from this school simply because you couldn’t keep your foot locked in one place.”

The kid scowls and picks a bed far from Draco. He takes off his robes and drapes it over another table before settling in for the night, as quietly as possible as to not disturb the rest of the Slytherins. Draco strains to hear his breathing but since it’s too far away, he can’t. So, as the hours of the night tick by slowly, Draco allows his mind to roam around.

He has a kid.

He actually has a kid.

He hasn’t actually thought of having kids when he grew up. The only relationship he actually had was with Pansy Parkinson and after the war broke out, they simply fell out. He hasn’t thought of love in a long while. It was hard to, especially when he wasn’t sure of surviving a year prior. But to have a wife and a kid--that seems like the easiest thing in the world after having been tasked to kill Albus Dumbledore by The Dark Lord.

Ah.

Draco rubs his eyes. How could he forget that? Nobody is too keen to actually make him forget about it any time soon. He still gets a bunch of dirty looks from all the other houses in this fucking school. Maybe he shouldn’t have returned. When he attended Hogwarts during the war, everything was a mess. Nobody was actually learning anything--they were all just waiting for the next death to happen. The ones who fought bravely at the Battle of Hogwarts were considered graduates and because Draco hadn’t raised his wand to fight for Potter’s side, he is set to retake the entire year.

It was his mother who told him to go.

He probably shouldn’t have.

He glances back at the kid, who looks to be asleep. A wave of instinct urges Draco to stand up and check for himself. He doesn’t know why, but since he can’t sleep, he might as well make sure that the younger one does. The floor is cool against the undersides of his feet as he pads towards his so-called son and when he leans over to check on his sleeping form, he stops short when he realizes that there are tears leaking from Scorpius’ closed eyes.

_Was I the cause of this?_

Draco hesitates, not knowing how to feel about this. Then he notices that Scorpius is shaking, even under the blanket that he currently has. He probably isn’t used to the cold. Coming up with a decision stemmed from pure babysitter instinct, Draco grabs the blanket from his bed and drapes it over the kid’s shivering figure. He tries not to make any sounds.

Scorpius stills.

Draco decides that he’s probably not going to be falling back to sleep any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww. Wasn't that a lil sweet of Draco, you piece of shit lmao. 
> 
> TBH, I'm not really happy with this chapter but it's the best I can do especially with the flow of the story. I hope it's not too OC. I really wanted to paint Draco as somebody who is not as vile as he used to be, but he's also not the type of guy to just happily accept everything that goes along his way. I like to think that the Slytherins were put under considerable pressure after the war, since their parents were most likely still Death Eaters and shit. 
> 
> As usual, leave a review about your thoughts regarding this chapter. The more reviews, the more motivated I am to actually finish this little fic. Hahahaha. No pressure, though.
> 
> Love, Mia.


	5. Mother

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo! I'm so sorry for the delay leading up to this chapter. We lost our internet connection back home so I had to find other means to upload. Don't worry, hopefully this isn't what you'd call a filler chapter because a certain witch is going to coming very soon. *mimics gun noises*

 

> _“My mother is the reason that I love you,' Bhim said simply. 'She is the reason I know what love is.”_  
>  ― Leah Franqui, America for Beginners 

 

* * *

 

When he comes to, Scorpius finds himself still stuck in the Slytherin dorms, not the familiar space of his bedroom. He sighs, rubbing his sore eyes and frowning when he can still feel the wetness of his cheeks. He must’ve been crying all night long, which he scolds himself for. With this real father, it was okay to cry but he fears that the younger Draco might not be so lenient. Especially after the way he treated him last night.

 _Hate to break it to you kid_ , Draco sneered, _but I don’t have a son._

“Stupid,” Scorpius mumbles under his breath, wiping away his wayward tears and sliding out of the bed. The other seventh years he spotted the night before are gone now, presumably off to their classes. He glances at his father’s bed near the window and does a double-take when he spots what looks like a Giant Squid passing by, its tentacles flowing freely behind it as it swims away from the dungeons.

 _This is definitely Hogwarts_ , Scorpius thinks to himself, smiling. He recalls a section of a book he read a while back detailing the mysteries of the Hogwarts but didn’t realize that he’d be seeing it with his own eyes so soon. The wonders of this magical school has always captivated him and he isn’t going to let a cranky teenager get the best of his experience.

Ah. Father always told him he admired his optimism. He wonders if he got it from his mother, since it is obvious that it didn’t come from him.

He’s about to head upstairs to the Common Room when he notices some clothes on the dresser by the bed. It seems to be just for him, since the sizes are way too small for a seventh-year. Besides, Draco did mention that only a few Slytherins came back. Scorpius checks the new robes, mesmerized by the green and silver linings, along with the Slytherin sigil stitched upon its front. He runs his hand along the smooth surface of the cloth and breathes it in. It smells like the school, alright. It smells like _magic_.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he eagerly slips the new clothes on, feeling exactly how all the other eleven year olds must’ve felt when they got to Hogwarts for the first time.

//

“You’re kidding, right?” Blaise says for the fifth time that morning. He and Draco are in the middle of the Common Room, preparing to leave for breakfast and chatting quietly about what had happened the night before. Draco doesn’t find the whole point of trying to keep the whole son situation quiet, since they can’t really keep him in one place and people are bound to see him around.

Draco fiddles with his tie. “I _wish_ I was kidding, Blaise,” he mutters, “but nope, there’s a walking and talking carbon copy of my eight year old self in the dorm rooms and he doesn’t really like me.”

“Nobody likes you.” Blaise snorts when Draco throws a book over his head. The rest of the Slytherins have already gone for breakfast, which gives the whole place for themselves. “I mean--nobody likes you _now_ , because of the whole thing with You-Know-Who. I doubt the kid would even know about that.”

Frowning to himself, Draco thinks back to the conversation last night. _Father wouldn’t say those things,_ the kid said.

“You know what’s really weird about him?” Draco mumbles, running his hand through his blonde hair, “His eyes are different. They’re brown. I mean--mine aren’t the color of shit, right?”

“Nah, yours are the definition of stone cold.”

“You think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you, Zabini?”

Blaise snorts again. They’re nearly finished with arranging their things for classes when they hear footsteps coming from downstairs in the dorm room. The two men look at each other, already knowing who it is, and Blaise mutters something about getting a picture since this whole shit seems _priceless_ as Draco prepares his mind to see his future son again.

When the kid emerges wearing the Slytherin robes a house-elf procured just for him, Draco feels a lump in his throat. He doesn’t understand why the sight of his future son with the green robes makes him feel the same way he felt when his Father bought the entire Quidditch team new brooms in second year, but it does. It makes him feel _proud_.

He refuses to acknowledge this. He has no right to feel proud.

He is not this kid’s father.

“You weren’t kidding,” Blaise says in awe. When Draco glances at him, he sees that his friend is absolutely delighted, his eyes alight with wonder. They haven’t had this kind of conversation in a long time, when everything felt easy and light. Maybe this is the effect of the aftermath. Maybe--just _maybe_ \--the war really is over

The kid looks at Blaise. “Hi,” he greets nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Draco clears his throat. “We’re late for breakfast,” he tells them.

“Breakfast can wait.” Blaise takes a step closer to the kid, still wearing that awestruck look in his face. “Draco, this is a rare opportunity. We could ask this guy here for questions about how we turn out. Like, how do I fit in your life? Do I get sent to Azkaban? How many children do I ha--”

“You’re my godfather,” the kid says quickly, before Blaise can ask any more questions.

That promptly shuts Blaise up. It lasts for only a few seconds, though.

“No shit, huh?” he says, his grin widening.

Draco smacks the back of his head. “Watch your mouth,” he grumbles, heading towards the exit, “You’re talking to an eight year old, not me.”

“Looks like I pissed Daddy off, right, kid?”

Another smack. Draco doesn’t say anything when he hears his future son muttering something about, “he was just saying bad words to me last night.” The doors barricading the Slytherin Common Room swing open to reveal the bustling castle, thankfully alive but dreadfully loud in the early morning, He sees a few of the other students coming in from outside, all chatting with their friends and practicing spells with their wands. Most of them are a mixture of the three other houses. They all look perfectly content and happy with their lives

Draco can’t say the same with his.

Spotting Lovegood and her Gryffindor friends coming in from the left side of the castle, he immediately moves away to avoid being seen. Blaise and the kid follow from behind. The three of them blend into the crowd.

“I’m hungry,” the kid tells Blaise.

“Me too, kid. But don’t worry, Hogwarts always offer a feast when it’s the start of the new school year.”

Draco can already see people glancing behind them to gawk at the kid. They whisper behind their hands and dart their gaze away from him. The older Malfoy tries to force his face to remain perfectly calm. He’s not doing anything wrong. He’s just babysitting his future son. But the stares and whispers are already starting to get to him, and he attempts to tell himself that he’s faced worse remarks about his entire life.

When they get to the Great Hall, they see that everybody is just settling in for breakfast. Draco hurriedly slips to the end of the Slytherin table and smacks Blaise at the back of the head when he does the same. Just for good measure. The kid follows suit silently, his eyes moving from one plate to another. Breakfast has already been served, apparently.

In all the eight years that Draco has spent in Hogwarts, the food is always the best part. He can understand why the kid looks like Christmas just came early.

“Hey, Malfoy,” a fellow Slytherin, Milicent Bulstrode, calls out, “Who’s the kid?”

“None of your business,” Draco replies coolly, reaching forward for an apple. 

The Slytherin doesn’t look offended. Instead, she shrugs and grabs some toast. Years of growing up with each other have taught him that. Many of his housemates kept to themselves, always hiding some secret beneath their sleeves and never sharing anything unnecessary. Many of those secrets saw the light of day during the Battle of Hogwarts, when many of their parents were captured as being avid Death Eaters. He knows what they’re going through. But of course, he can understand why they’d be confused or curious about the kid eating breakfast with them. It is his carbon coby.

Draco catches sight of the brown eyes looking back at him and squashes down the desire to _know_.

 _Not my problem_ , he tries to tell himself, picking out some pancakes for breakfast; _I’m not his father._ He just hopes that his future self is trying his best to get the kid back home to his own time.

//

Father is not ... _father_.

Scorpius can guess that much. He shouldn’t have expected for Draco Malfoy to immediately act like his father. He’s acting--for lack of a better word--like a spoiled, cranky and broody _teenager_. The older Malfoy looks at Scorpius like a problem, doesn’t read him his bedtime story and even goes as far as ignoring him for the remainder of their breakfast. He seems set on distancing himself from everybody around him and barely answers any questions that the other kids ask when they catch sight of his lookalike sitting just across from him.

Even though he’s only been separated from his real father for a night, he misses him terribly.

The food helps to ease the ache in his chest. He’s served himself some pudding, toast, eggs benedict, sausages and a glass of orange juice for refreshments. He doesn’t look at the rest of the table because he knows that he might just grab at anything that looks delicious so he settles for what he has on his plate. It’s practically everything he can reach for and Uncle--no, he looks too young to be called an uncle-- _Blaise_ laughs when he accidentally starts choking on his sausages.

“The food’s not going to disappear, Scorpius,” the Slytherin remarks, carefully biting into his own sausage.

“I’m just--” Scorpius pauses to swallow “--really _hungry_.”

“Hey.” Father--no, _Draco_ \--gives him a pointed look. “Didn’t they tell you that you’re not supposed to talk when your mouth is full?”

“Isn’t that supposed to be your job, Malfoy?”

Draco starts to raise his fist but apparently changes his mind halfway through because he just mutters a few incoherent words under his breath. Blaise cheekily winks at Scorpius and then returns his attention back to his own plate. Scorpius takes this time to actually _taste_ his food instead of just swallowing it whole into his stomach when he catches sight of Professor McGonagall standing up from the long table full of professors at the front of the Great Hall. She clears her throat and everybody twists around to listen to their Headmistress.

“Good morning, students,” she greets and when she smiles, it reminds Scorpius of his grandmother, “I hope you have all settled and adjusted in nicely for the school year. It is September 21 and it has roughly been four months since Lord Voldemort’s defeat at the hands of one of our alumnus, Harry Potter.”

A roar of applause from the three other long tables in the Great Hall. Scorpius notices that the Slytherin table claps only halfheartedly. Draco doesn’t even raises his hands to commemorate the celebration. Now that he thinks about, the younger Malfoy realizes that the table where they’re all seated at is the least populated among the four tables. Many did not return after the war.

Of course, Scorpius has heard about the war, has seen images of Lord Voldemort and his followers wrecking havoc on the Wizarding World, has read countless books about the famous Golden Trio--Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Even years later, his father and uncle still whisper about it during their weekly talks and during those times, Scorpius has felt their fear and apprehension. He feels it even more prominently now--the weight of its aftermath settling in the middle of the Great Hall, like a snake twisting and untwisting, ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

Four months still feels like a short time to be celebrating.

“--I also would like to answer a few inquiries regarding this morning,” McGonagall continues and Scorpiius snaps back to attention, having been lost in his own thoughts. He realizes that nearly everybody in the Great Hall is looking at him now.

Blaise leans down to whisper into his ear, “Enjoy your little superstar moment.”

“Scorpius, if you may.” Professor McGonagall gestures for him to come up front.

Oh. The sausages he ate for breakfast seem to be making a comeback. He sucks in a deep breath, slides out of the bench and walks in the side area as to not gather more attention, which is useless, because everybody is still looking at him strangely. He tries his best not to trip, which is a needless worry, because the Slytherin robes that he’s wearing aren’t too loose.

He reaches McGonagall’s side a moment later, still not looking up. All the eyes that are staring straight into him seem feels like a physical weight on his shoulders.

“This is Scorpius Malfoy,” the Headmistress announces, placing her hands firmly on his shoulders and Scorpius tenses, “He comes from the future after he broke a Time-Turner. He is the son of Draco Malfoy.”

A few whispers and hisses move about the Great Hall. Momentarily, the attention is diverted to Draco, who doesn’t even bother looking up when Scorpius raises his head. But the moment passes and everybody returns to gawking at him. Scorpius can feel his cheeks burning.

“The Ministry of Magic has already been alerted,” the Headmistress continues, “but they have asked for cooperation on our behalf. Normally, when it comes to time travels, it is necessary not to disrupt events that have already transpired. However, because a child needs our help, some rules may be broken. But in order for Scorpius to get back home sooner rather than later, I would like to request those who have Time-Turners in their family possession to turn them over to the Ministry as it might take a few weeks to build a new one from scratch. In the meantime, please treat him with the utmost respect you would for a child. He may be staying with us for a while.” 

Scorpius can see everybody nodding along to what she’s saying. When she finishes off with her little announcement, the buzzing in the room increases as the students return to chatting with their friends, this time with the subject of Scorpius, the future son of Draco Malfoy in mind. He turns to head back to the Slytherin table when McGonagall lightly taps him on his shoulder.

“Scorpius,” she tells him, “I’ll be seeing you later at 3 PM, as we have agreed. The password is still ‘Percival.’ I will be expecting you.”

“Okay, professor,” he mumbles, still shaking from the way everybody stared at him.

“Before I forget.” The witch pulls out her wand from her robe and lightly taps the air. A book materializes from nothingness and Scorpius’ eyes widen when he realizes that it’s _his_ book: _Hogwarts: A History_. He forgot all about it with the arrival of his young father the night before. Greedily taking it into his hands, he thanks the Headmistress before returning to the Slytherin table, his mind racing when he realizes that this may be a chance to answer some of his most burning questions.

The reason he was in the Archive room in the first place was because of _this_ book. He broke the Time-Turner because he got caught snooping around Father’s letters, after he came across some handwriting that he was certain was a woman’s. Those words compelled him to that specific place, where he would later find the Time-Turner. _Hogwarts: A History_ held some clues about this mysterious person and now that he _is_ in Hogwarts, there’s something in his heart that tells him this woman is his _mother_ and that the book in his hands is _hers._

And Scorpius is certain, just like he is certain about his father, that his mother is in the Great Hall along with him. He _knows_ that she is here. And when Scorpius slides next to Blaise once more, he thinks back to the list in his notebook, hidden under his bed:

  1. _Gryffindoor_
  2. _Brown eyes_
  3. _September 19_



Maybe it’s the magic in him but the more that Scorpius sits there, the more he senses his mother watching him in that exact moment. He can feel the weight of her stare burning holes in his back, can almost hear her voice talking to her own friends, can almost see her if he just turns around--

He looks over his shoulder, hoping to catch sight of his mother, but is saddened when he realizes that nobody is actually staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again. What do you think? Is it too OoC again? Please tell me in the comments down below. I love reading them and it helps to improve the way I write this characters. 
> 
> See you next chapter! 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	6. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm sorry for taking so long to update. No internet sucks. I was planning to post another chapter after this but I didn't finish on time so just enjoy this one. Thank you!

 

> _“In other words, they belong to types that could fall in love, but couldn't live together.”_  
>  ― E.M. Forster, Howards End 

 

* * *

 

Hermione thinks that she’s seen it all. But when she sees Draco Malfoy entering the Great Hall with a child that looks exactly like him, apparently there’s something about magic that still surprises her even until now. When she hears about the child using a Time-Turner to get back, she wonders why its even possible that he was able to be transported to Hogwarts of all places. She’s familiar with the mechanism and magic of the object, but never has she expected anybody to actually travel to a time period they are not a part of.

She finds herself staring at the back of the younger Malfoy’s head, intrigued.

“Do you think the kid’s just like his dad?” Ginny whispers next to her, reaching across Hermione’s plate to grab some string beans.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admits, turning to her friend and nibbling on her lower lip, “It depends on how Malfoy actually turns out in the future.”

“So, still an ass?”

The two girls laugh quietly to themselves and Hermione is reminded of her two best friends. The decision to come back to Hogwarts was an easy one. Both Harry and Ron didn’t see the logic in coming back and enduring hours and hours of boring lectures and routine schedules. They’ve seen the real world and they were eager to explore every bit of it. Of course, they understood Hermione’s decision to come back. For Hermione, it was merely getting rid of an itch that started when they left to hunt for horcruxes. She would be damned if she didn’t graduate from Hogwarts. Graduating with flying colors, especially from a magical school, has always been part of her list of things to do.

But still, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t wish her two best friends were there to make everything fun.

Even if there are some unsaid things between her and Ron.

“We have the same schedule on Transfiguration, right?” Hermione asks Ginny in the hopes of forgetting some of the more embarrassing memories that are starting to resurface. She hasn’t contacted Ron in a while now, even though there are letters steadily coming from him every two days.

Ginny frowns. When she does, she makes the exact face Ron usually does when he’s trying to understand something that wasn’t part of the study guide.

Hermione groans inwardly. So much for trying to forget Ron.

“I think there’s an assignment that we’re supposed to do,” Ginny mutters, playing around with her string beans.

“Wasn’t it by pair? I already did it for us,” Hermione quips, almost shyly. 

Her red-headed friend laughs heartily. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

It feels strange--trying to come back to the routine of a regular Hogwarts student. Hermione still has nightmares, of course. She doesn’t think that anybody doesn’t have any nightmares of the war, nor the lingering sense that danger is just waiting around by the corner. Everybody might look happier but Hermione senses that many are still trying to adjust. She knows for a fact that Ginny still wakes up screaming in the middle of the night because she dreams of Fred dying all over again and has to be soothed back to sleep by somebody else in the dorm.

When she looks around the castle, she sees people who are supposed to be there. She sees Fred making everybody laugh without trying too hard, Colin Creevery taking pictures with his Muggle camera to show back home to his mum, Lavender Brown gossiping with her girlfriends, all of them just being _alive_ and well.

 _This is the price of war_ , Hermione thinks to herself, _we deal with our losses and we move on_.

She thinks back to Malfoy’s kid. How is the future like for him? Does another war happen? Will Voldemort somehow be resurrected by a Death Eater fanatic? She’s tempted to go to the Slytherin table and flat out ask, but she doesn’t think Malfoy would actually tolerate that.

 _Malfoy_.

Hermione cranes her head over her shoulder to take a good look at her old nemesis. He still looks the same as when she last saw him--skinny and haunted, his hair a sickly yellowish hue with his cheekbones sharp and lips permanently tied into a frown. But there’s life to his eyes now. He smiles more often, which is still a rare sight to see, and he seems to stick closer to Blaise Zabini, now that Crabbe is gone and Goyle has moved away. She wonders why he even came back in the first place.

They share only one class together: Advanced Potions. They pretend like they don’t see each other when they’re there, which is a far better alternative than their screaming matches in the earlier years. Malfoy seems to be keeping it low, which is useless now that he has a kid running after him.

When breakfast ends, Hermione gathers her belongings and heads to the library, where she knows she’ll be able to get some peace and quiet. She takes another look at the younger Malfoy when they pass each other by but he doesn’t notice her stare. Instead, he’s lugging a book close to his chest as he follows Malfoy and Zabini back to their Common Room.

She wonders what kind of book he’s reading.

//

The Truth serum doesn’t taste like anything when Professor McGonagall instructs Scorpius to drink it. He doesn’t feel anything as well. He imagined some sort of convulsion or shaking to occur when he drank the potion but nothing like that happens. Instead, he is left with the same feeling he felt when he reentered the Headmistress’ office: fear and dread. Which he knows is stupid since he’s done nothing wrong.

Unless breaking a Time-Turner is against the law or something.

Scorpius is pretty sure it isn’t. He thinks.

“What is your full name?” McGonagall asks him. She’s with another professor named Horace Slughorn, who came to administer the truth serum. He is looking at him carefully, the same way a cat would when eyeing a little mouse. Scorpius saw his portrait at the Slytherin Common Room last night.

“Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy,” he states immediately, at first confused by how easily his own name slips out of his mouth. It must be the effect of the Truth serum.

McGonagall flicks her wand and a quill appears out of nowhere to take note of what Scorpius is saying. This adds a little bit of pressure down the younger Malfoy, who is starting to feel like he’s in an interrogation, like he’s some sort of criminal trying to attest to a crime he’s committed.

He can feel his sweat running down the back of his neck.

“What is your father’s name?” McGonagall asks again.

“Draco Malfoy,” Scorpius answers.

“Your mother?”

“I--I don’t know.” For some reason, he feels ashamed of this and he looks away from the older witch’s piercing gaze. “My father never talks about her.”

McGonagall and Slughorn share a look that goes unnoticed by Scorpius. He is too busy staring down at his hands, trying to keep them from shaking. He’s done nothing wrong but for some reason, he feels like he can’t breathe.

“Where did you find the Time-Turner?”

“In the Archive room. It was under a bookshelf.”

“How did it break?”

“I--” A memory resurfaces. The last glimpse of his father’s panic-stricken face when Scorpius touched the Time-Turner, even though the glass had broken. “Father and Uncle Blaise scared me. He told me not to touch it after I accidentally dropped it. I wouldn’t listen--I--I thought I could fi-fix it.”

“What did it look like when it was broken?”

Scorpius tries to remember. “The hourglass was cracked and the sand was leaking out,” he recalls, trying his best to come up with the right details, “When I picked it up, the rings around it started _... spinning_ out of control for some reason.”

The only constant sounds in the room where the scratching of the quill against the parchment and Scorpius’ hammering heartbeat. He fears saying the wrong thing, which is stupid, he tells himself again. Because that’s the whole point of the Truth serum: you will _never_ say the wrong thing.

“How did it feel when you were transported?” This time, it is Slughorn who asks, “Normally, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

Scorpius nibbles his bottom lip, trying not to remember just how _painful_ it felt to be ripped out of your time and transferred to an earlier one. But the words are already slipping out of his mouth, like a waterfall in the middle of the forest: “It hurt a lot. I could hear voices screaming in my ears. The world was just moving and moving. When it finally stopped, I dropped from the ceiling of Hogwarts. My nose was bleeding, actually.” 

There is silence once more. Scorpius looks up to see that the two adults are looking at him worriedly. It is the same look Father normally wears when Scorpius accidentally trips over himself or when he fell from the top stair of their Manor when he was only six years old. It’s the kind of look all parents have when their child gets hurt, even if it is intentional or not.

He aches when he misses his father again, a wave of nostalgia so strong it feels like a slap to the face.

“We’ll get you checked up at the infirmary,” Slughorn tells him, reaching forward and patting him on the back, “I hope you didn’t get a concussion or anything like that.”

Scorpius smiles. “No, I think I’m okay.”

Slughorn nods before leaning over to McGonagall and whispering something in her ear. The Headmistress keeps her eyes trained on Scorpius who looks away and checks all over his surroundings. The office seems brighter in the day, more vibrant and colorful, and he notes a portrait of an elderly man with a long silver beard standing directly behind McGonagall’s desk. He winks at Scorpius when he catches him looking.

“Excuse me,” he pipes up, dragging the two professors’ attention towards him, “That’s Albus Dumbledore, right? One of the greatest wizards to have ever lived?”

McGonagall allows a smile to cross over her features. All three of them look at the elderly man. “Yes,” the Headmistress says, “He was a dear friend of mine.”

“I see.” Scorpius tries to remember all the books he’s read before. “A Death Eater killed him, right?”

Silence again. Scorpius mentally slaps himself. Just because he read about it doesn’t necessarily mean that it has happened a long time ago. For the rest of the people in this timeline, the wounds of the war are still fresh and their losses even more so. Dumbledore could’ve been dead for only a few months now. Maybe even a year. He sheepishly mutters an apology under his breath before shutting up.

McGonagall shares another look with Slughorn. “Perhaps it is best if you do not over-share some notable facts about the future, Scorpius,” the elder witch tells him.

“Like what?” Scorpius asks, his eyes returning to Dumbledore’s portrait.

“Anything death-related,” Slughorn suggests, giving him a twinkling smile, “We don’t want anybody in this school to know when they’re going to die, of course. And any life-changing magical event. Just keep your details to a minimum eh, boy?”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Scorpius rubs his fingers together, wondering if the truth serum is still in effect or if he just really likes to share some stupid things. “Father doesn’t really socialize much, except with Uncle Blaise. I just stay in the Manor all day while Grandmother visits.”

There’s a short pause. Then almost like he’s not thinking, Slughorn asks, “Does your grandfather visit?”

Scorpius tilts his head, slightly confused. “I think my grandfather died,” he says, “I haven’t seen him ever.”

There’s another heavy pause. Slughorn suddenly claps his hands together, laughing nervously, “Ah,” he says, “That is an example of a thing you should never say out loud to your father. It might upset him.”

“Just sparse details, Scorpius,” McGonagall tells him, “If you can refrain from sharing, that would be better. The Ministry will find a way to ensure that no time-related disasters will happen with you being here.” She waves her wand and the quill stops writing, laying flat on top of the table. Scorpius bites his lower lip and wonders if he’s said some incriminating details about himself or his parentage but Slughorn simply shakes his hand and his worries are slightly eased.

Scorpius allows himself to be led back to the corridors, with McGonagall telling him that he’ll be in touch soon. He feels lighter now, like the weight of what has happened has faded away or maybe it’s just the truth serum wearing off. The doors open to reveal the twisting staircase leading outside and Slughorn keeps his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder as they head downstairs. He doesn’t talk much but perhaps it is because he is deep in thought. 

“Can you find your way to the infirmary, Mr. Malfoy?” Slughorn asks all of a sudden, patting his back, “I just realized that I have a Sleeping Draught brewing back in my office. Wouldn’t want it to boil over. Wouldn’t want to waste that. Got a lot of students not getting enough shut-eye.”

“Why is that, professor?” Scorpius asks simply out of morbid curiosity. Sleepless students remind him of his father’s late night coffee sessions.

Slughorn takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Oh,” he says, when he realizes that he’s been out of it for too long, “That’s what happens when you go into war. I must really be going. Ah! Ms. Granger--“ a girl with hair that looks similar to a wild bush startles when Slughorn whips around and sees her coming down from the hall “--would you be so kind to escort Mr. Malfoy down the infirmary for a little check-up? I’m afraid I really must return to my office. Would that be okay with you, Ms. Granger?”

The busy-haired girl -- Granger -- glances over at Scorpius with a perturbed look all over her features. The younger Malfoy looks away from her gaze, knowing that that she was probably talking about him earlier during breakfast. He doesn’t know why it bothers him but the idea that somebody could be talking about him without his knowledge -- whether good or bad -- sets him on edge.

He looks back at the girl. She’s talking animatedly with Slughorn now, something about a Potions assignment that’s due the next day. He halfheartedly listens to their conversation, thinking about the Truth serum that’s probably still in his veins, when he realizes that the girl is now talking to him. Slughorn has vanished in the short span that Scorpius zoned out.

“Hi,” the girl greets, kneeling in front of him and extending her hand for Scorpius to shake, “My name’s Hermione. You must be Scorpius Malfoy.”

The name immediately clicks. Scorpius shakes her hand, trying to keep the awe from seeping into his voice. “ _The_ Hermione Granger?” he asks, knowing everything about the Golden Trio from the books and newspapers he’s read about them. He knew that Father was classmates with them but never in his wildest dreams did he expect to actually meet _one_ of them.

Hermione laughs awkwardly. “You know me?” she asks, “I would’ve thought I’d be old news in the future.”

“You’re _everywhere_ ,” Scorpius gushes and then remembers what McGonagall told him just a few minutes ago, “I mean--you know. Just _everywhere, everywhere_. Please don’t ask me to tell you more. I might get in trouble.”

The famous Hermione Granger lets out another laugh. Scorpius doesn’t understand why, but something in his chest loosens. He allows himself to admire the girl’s simple beauty. Her bushy-brown hair is wild around her head, tendrils and strands just poking out everywhere. Some are tangled and twisted, as if a hairbrush had a fight to the death with them but failed miserably in the end. She looks like the embodiment of a person who literally got out of the wrong side of the bed. But her face is kind, radiating warmth and gentleness. Scorpius has seen pictures of her all grown up but her beauty reminds him of wine and how it grows better with time.

But the one thing that strikes Scorpius the most when Hermione lifts her gaze towards him are her eyes. They are brown. A bright shade of it, leaning towards hazel. Brighter than his.

It feels the world has tipped on its axis all of a sudden.

 _No,_ he scolds himself, immediately looking away from her eyes, _just because she has brown eyes doesn’t mean she’s my mother_.

“Come on,” she tells him, “Professor Slughorn asked me to accompany you somewhere.”

“Uh--” Scorpius tries to find the words, his heart hammering loudly inside his chest.

Hermione looks him over. “Why do you need to go to the infirmary?” she asks, making a clicking noise at the back of her throat, “Have you injured yourself? You don’t look too beat up. Did Malfoy do something to you?”

“Uh-- _no_.” Scorpius immediately shakes his head. “I’m fine. It’s just a precaution. I got a nosebleed yesterday and forgot to tell anybody about it.”

Hermione lets out a soft giggle. “Reminds me of someone I know.” She moves to stand up, rubbing her hands together and tilting her head to the direction of the infirmary. “We should get going now. Or else your father might end up hexing me when he sees the two of us having a conversation.”

Scorpius frowns as he starts to follow Hermione towards the infirmary. The bustle of students have lessened. He guesses that 4 PM is usually the time for classes. Their stares and whispers follow him around, which he tries to blatantly ignore. Hermione’s pace is slower than most people, compared to Draco and Blaise’s earlier when Scorpius struggled to catch up with them. He wonders if she must be doing it for his sake, since his little legs can’t keep up and if she is, then he greatly appreciates it.

“How do you find Hogwarts, Scorpius?” Hermione asks as they continue walking, moving through several crowds of people and still maintaining their close proximity to one another.

“It’s...” Scorpius can’t find the right words. They both round the corner leading to the infirmary and the younger Malfoy catches sight of the room filled with a dozen beds, only one of them occupied. He also sees an elderly witch tending to the wounds of a Hufflepuff in his Quidditch clothes.

Hermione stops by the doorway, giving him a pointed look. “Yeah?” she prods, tucking a strand of her bushy hair behind her ear, not that it did much to keep it tame.

“It’s better than anything I could ever dream of,” Scorpius quietly mumbles, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks when he hears Hermione chuckle, “I mean, I know that I’m going to Hogwarts soon but--but it feels different when it’s in a--a different time. I feel like an intruder or something.”

Scorpius’ lungs feels too tight. He wonders if he’s said too much.

“Consider yourself an observer with a free trial,” Hermione tells him, the gentle smile never leaving her face, before she places her elegant hands on the back of his neck and pushes him towards the medic witch, who gives him a quizzical look upon his arrival, probably wondering if Draco Malfoy has somehow shrunk his body to that of an eight year old’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhhhh Scorpius and Hermione have met. Things are going to get juicy, guys. I hope you're excited for the rest of the chapters lmao.
> 
> As usual, leave a comment! Thank you. 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	7. Bitter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm so sorry for uploading so late. I had a fever for the entire week. 
> 
> Also, I've read your many comments regarding the OC-ness of the characters. I'll try to fix most of them in the upcoming chapters. 
> 
> Once again, thank you for following Scorpius on his trip to discovering who his mother is!

 

 

> _“Her heart was telling her to trust him, but it wouldn’t be the first time that that foolish muscle, there in the middle of her chest, had betrayed her.”_  
>  ― Mirella Muffarotto, Every Boy Is A Book

 

* * *

 

“Where the bloody hell is that kid?” Draco mutters to himself when he gets to the Slytherin Common Room and finds no carbon copy there. Blaise, who is standing behind him in the doorway leading to the dungeons, lets out a dry laugh.

“Don’t tell you’ve grown to like Scorpius,” Blaise says, his hands in the pocket of his uniform. “Weren’t you just telling me earlier what a nuisance he is?

Draco feels a growl rising in his throat. Yes, in fact, he did tell his friend exactly that, but it’s mostly because the kid means bad news. Blaise told him that he’s acting too harsh towards an eight year old but Draco justifies his actions through the obvious knowledge that he’s under careful supervision of both the school and the Ministry and having your future kid in the mix could definitely fuck things up.

So, when that said kid disappears, it can push a certain Malfoy up against the wall.

“He _is_ a nuisance,” Draco snaps, his fury hot in his cheeks, “All he does is follow us around the school. And what if something bad happens, eh? Like some group of Death Eaters suddenly show up and kill him on the spot? He dies all because I wasn’t there to babysit him. Fucking hell. Then I end up in Azkaban for Merlin’s sake.”

Blaise suddenly grows somber. Draco takes another sweeping look around the Common Room, eyeing a few suspicious Slytherins who look at him warily, before he turns around and heads back to the corridor. He’d be damned if the kid ends up hurting himself and the blame goes to him. Pushing down the growing panic in his throat, he starts thundering down the hallways, heedless of the many stares he gets from his classmates.

Following closely behind is Blaise, who struggles to keep up with his long strides.

“You know,” he says in between pants, “You might not know this but you’re definitely acting like a father right now.”

“Sod off,” Draco sneers, “I’m just trying to keep out of trouble.”

“The War is over,” Blaise points out, “There’s no need to feel paranoid all the fucking time--”

“I am _not_ paranoid!”

“Then why are you acting so rough on the kid, huh?” Blaise reaches forward and grabs him by the sleeve of his robe. Draco nearly stumbles, before regaining his balance and whipping around to throw Blaise a dirty look. They’re somewhere in the east wing of the castle, far from the Slytherin Common Room and Draco spots a couple of Ravenclaws looking at them from the comforts of their little groups, whispering under their breaths and glancing pointedly at their directions.

His wand is out before he realizes and Blaise lunges forward to hide it from the Ravenclaws.

“Quit it,” the other Slytherin says, wringing the wand from out of his grip and waiting for the Ravenclaws to move out of earshot, “We’re under supervision, remember? We _can’t_ be doing shit like this.”

Breathing deeply through his nose, Draco is strongly reminded of his sixth year in Hogwarts, when it felt like the world was falling apart in his very hands, when every attempt he made against Dumbledore’s life just kept failing and failing, when The Dark Lord’s grip on him just tightened until he felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. He feels the same dread in his stomach, creeping up to his chest and settling behind his eyes. When he looks into Blaise’s face, he is reminded of the way Dumbledore looked at him before his final moments.

Like there is something worth saving.

“I’m not paranoid,” he tells Blaise again, his voice rough, “I’m harsh on the kid because he’s not my son. He’s just somebody who looks like me in the future. I don’t even fucking know who his mother is.”

Blaise lets out an irritated sigh. “You really gotta act up, mate?” He places Draco’s wand back in his hands again. “Just relax. Don’t be a little bitch. We’ll find Scorpius.”

Draco grits his teeth. “You’re the little bitch,” he grumbles.

“How fucking original of you.” Blaise frowns at his friend’s heavy breathing. “You know,” he begins, looking at him strangely, “I don’t think I’ve heard you say Scorpius’ name.”

Draco hides his wand in his back pocket and gives Blaise another dirty look.

“What of it?” he asks, swiftly turning around to look for the kid at the halls of Hogwarts. He walks faster now, covering a larger distance and easily out-walking Blaise, who can once again be heard panting from behind. The incident with the Ravenclaws has left Draco’s body buzzing with adrenaline and it is with this new surge of energy that he is able to jog past the infirmary and catch sight of a certain bushy-haired bookworm chatting amiably with his carbon copy.

He stops immediately, allowing Blaise the unfortunate business of bumping into his back entirely. The two Slytherins stumble to the ground and Draco hisses at Blaise to get off him before anybody -- especially nosy Granger -- notices what on earth they’re doing.

“Why the fucking hell did you stop?” Blaise grumbles, shoving at him to catch his footing. Before he can fully stand, however, Draco grabs him by the collar of his neck and drags him back down to the floor. “ _Hey_!”

Draco shushes him. There’s something about the way Granger was looking -- all innocent and doe-like as she talked to his son -- that doesn’t settle easily with him. He cranes his neck to look around the door and sees the kid talking animatedly, with wild gestures and matching facial expressions, while Madam Pomfrey checks his vitals.

Blaise leans over his head to take a look.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, “Didn’t know they were friends.”

“They’re not.” Draco rubs the bridge of his nose in irritation. “I swear to God -- if she’s brainwashing him with --” he clears his throat to make an impression of Granger, with the squeaky voice and pompous tone “-- _‘oh all Gryffindors are good, we saved the war from You-Know-Who and you should_ definitely _stay away from your father’s lot who are a bunch of Death Eaters in the making--’_ I will fucking murder this bitch.”

Blaise snorts. “Mate, have I ever told you that your Granger impression has improved over the years?”

“Shut it.”

Draco takes another look at Granger and his son. It’s strange. He’s only just met the kid, but he looks _happier_. There’s a light in his eyes and a joy to his smile as he talks to the stupid Gryffindork. It makes Draco feel uneasy, and it reminds him of the same feeling he gets when he holds another person’s wand. Like -- like it doesn’t belong to him. Maybe it’s just the sight of another version of his features looking like Merlin himself has popped up out of nowhere and grants him his wish. Whatever the case, it bothers him. It bothers him that Granger can make him look like that.

He thinks of the kid’s first night here and how he saw him crying to sleep.

 _Fucking Granger_ , he thinks to himself, _always swooping in and acting like an angel._

Years of animosity has trained him to pull out his wand at the sight of her.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Blaise whispers.

“Who knows?” Draco resumes to a crouching position. “But I don’t like it. Let’s just fucking barge in and hex her out of the way--”

Blaise smacks him against the back of his head. “You can’t do that, asshole,” he spits, “Especially not against one of the most beloved witches of the fucking century. Last I checked, she and those two buffoons she calls her friends saved your life back here.”

Draco scowls. He rubs the back of his neck and moves to stand up. Breathing through his nose deeply, he tries to gather a moment of tranquility. He allows himself a minute to think rationally and to actually be grateful for the fact that he’s still here. He recalls the memory of the Battle of Hogwarts, when he cornered Potter and his jolly friends at the Room of Requirement. It could’ve been _so_ easy to just leave the three Slytherins behind and not even say a word about them being burned to death but their stupid heart of golds had to swoop in and save them. Well, except Crabbe.

Something inside Draco’s chest twists painfully.

He is indebted. Especially to Potter.

He can’t do anything to Granger. Unless he wishes to be unpardoned by the Ministry and sent to fucking Azkaban.

“Fucking hell.” He shoves his wand into his back pocket for the second time that day and moves to stand up. “Let’s just get this over with.”

//

Scorpius Malfoy is _adorable_.

It seems like a miracle that she is able to think of the name _Malfoy_ and the word _adorable_ in the same sentence but she does. The kid might be Malfoy’s but he acts the way any child would. Hermione doesn’t know what she expected at first (a snobby and spoiled brat similar to the Draco Malfoy she encountered in their first school year) but definitely not this. Not this sweet, innocent child who has no idea of the years of history she and Malfoy have shared.

Scorpius is retelling a story he’s read in one of the many books they have at the Manor. A Muggle book, in fact. Hermione doesn’t realize he’s talking about _Beowulf_ until halfway into the story and query of questions start popping up in her brain. _Malfoy is allowing him to read_ Muggle _books?_ she asks herself, absolutely stupefied. She can get behind the whole future-kid-pops-back-into-the-past thing (they have movies for that, after all) but _Draco Malfoy_ , one of the biggest bullies she’s ever come across with her entire life, letting his child read something made by Muggles? How ghastly.

“I mean, I can’t understand the language most of the time,” Scorpius says, after Madam Pomfrey is finished checking the back of his head for any sign of bruises, “but Father always helps me out by reading the context of the sentence--”

“Wait.” Hermione raises a hand, perplexed now more than ever. “Malfoy can read?”

Scorpius pauses, giving her a quizzical look. “Yeah?” he says, “He’s not stupid or anything.”

Biting back a laughter that threatens to spill out of her, Hermione manages to shake her head. She has no idea how Malfoy is like when it comes to his academics. Earlier in the years, with the undesirable pressure from his family, he has always been part of the top ten students in their class. Not a close second but a steady sixth or seventh maybe.

But after he took the Dark Mark, his grades plummeted.

It’s his antics and behavior that makes Hermione label him as a stupid, blubbering fool. He still is, as far as she knows.

“Okay,” she says, “I’ll take your word for it.”

“Do you--” Scorpius hesitates. He looks over at Madam Pomfrey, who is checking some of the blood that she extracted out of him. Possibly for any sign of infection from the time-travel. Which Hermione doubts there will be any.

“Do I what?” Hermione gently prods. Sometimes, Scorpius reminds her of a scared little puppy. Afraid to come close but as innocent and gentle like any other child she has come across with.

Scorpius bites his lower lip. Hermione notes that they share the same habit when they’re nervous, which she finds intriguing. Never in her wildest dreams would she expect to share some qualities with a Malfoy.

But Scorpius isn’t like any other Malfoy...

“Spit it out, Scorpius,” Hermione tells him, smiling so that the child will see that she won’t bite or anything, “You can always ask me anything.”

Scorpius’ features brighten. But a wave of apprehension washes over him.

“Do you,” he begins shakily, clearing his throat and deepening his voice. Like he’s trying to sound grown-up somehow. “Do you like my father?”

The question is so startling and strange that Hermione’s actually drops. Did she _like_ Draco Malfoy? A resounding _NO!_ almost made its way past her lips but Hermione manages to catch herself on time. The question has clearly been brewing in the back of Scorpius’ mind, because he squeezes his eyes shut and starts mumbling apology after apology, and she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings or anything, even if it is Draco Malfoy they’re talking about.  

She tries to pick her words carefully. “When it comes to your father,” she starts to say, “it’s a complicated relationship. I wouldn’t say that I like him but I won’t go as far as saying that I hate him. I am ... _indifferent_ to him.”

Scorpius tilts his head like he doesn’t understand what the word means. Before Hermione can explain, she hears raised voices from behind, followed by heavy footsteps. She gets the same feeling in her neck when she senses danger. Which is stupid, because most of the danger has already passed. There might be a few resistances every now and then, but nothing that the world can’t handle. Still, she feels for her wand in her robes, expecting to see a masked Death Eater behind her, but when she whips around, she only finds Malfoy and Blaise Zabini staring, the former wearing an irritated look with the latter grinning broadly.

Madam Pomfrey, realizing the situation, excuses herself to get to her office. 

“Granger,” he greets nicely enough, even though there is still some spite in his voice.

“Malfoy,” Hermione states in return, raising a cool eyebrow at him.

“Zabini,” Blaise says all of a sudden, with the kind of disdain Harry and Ron would’ve reserved for Malfoy only. He laughs when they all glance at him strangely. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

Malfoy looks back at Hermione, scowl still in place. “What are you doing here?” he roughly asks.

“Professor Slughorn asked me to take Scorpius to the infirmary,” Hermione responds, taking a protective stance.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Malfoy, whose scowl deepens. “What the bloody hell happened?” he demands, cheeks turning red.

“You should ask your son.”

The three teenagers turn their gaze towards Scorpius, who seems to grow smaller, if that’s even possible. He clears his throat and explains what happened when he got to Hogwarts last night. Hermione watches Malfoy as the story is recounted, but his face doesn’t soften. Instead, it seems to turn to stone.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Malfoy demands after Scorpius is done.

Scorpius raises his hands in surrender. “When I saw you,” he begins, his brown eyes ( _that’s the first thing Hermione noticed about this child -- his eyes are different than his father’s_ ) flicking nervously between the three teenagers, “I was too shocked to even _remember_ that my nose was bleeding. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Fath--”

Malfoy flinches like he’s been stung. Scorpius’ words die in his throat and hurt flashes across his features. A lump forms in Hermione’s throat. She pities him. She really does. It’s not easy to feel like you’ve been disowned by your own parent, even if it is the younger version of them. But still, Malfoy’s reaction was too harsh and she can already see Scorpius’ eyes growing wet with incoming tears.

Something akin to anger rises in her throat.

Without realizing it, she grabs Malfoy by the sleeve of his robe and drags him outside the infirmary. He is still in a state of shock so he doesn’t resist but once he realizes what she’s doing, he quickly shakes off her grip.

“What the fuck are you doing, Granger?” he demands hotly.

“I didn’t touch you,” Hermione spits out, crossing her arms and giving him a defiant look.

Up close, Malfoy looks thinner. Not as thin as back in sixth year but dangerously similar. His silver hair, always remarkable in the daylight, seems dull and faded; his eyes are burning with anger, but it’s only a shadow of the way he uses to expresses himself and then his entire face--it has always been sharp, but now she’s sure that it could cut corners. Within their close proximity, she can see that his skin is a sickly grey rather than the yellowish hue she saw earlier. The shade is similar to the color of his eyes. 

“You’re being too harsh on Scorpius,” Hermione tells him sternly.

“What are you, his mother?” Malfoy brushes the sleeve of his robes, where Hermione’s fingers gripped it. “Don’t tell me how to raise the kid.”

Hermione grits her teeth. “I’m not telling you how to,” she sneers, “I just think that you should be a little nicer to him.”

“Nice doesn’t get people anywhere, Granger,” Malfoy snaps, “Do you think _my_ father was nice to me when I was growing up?”

Unconsciously, they both glance over at Scorpius, who is talking to Blaise with a dejected droop of his shoulders. Hermione can feel his sadness radiating from afar. He might not be able to understand that the present Malfoy is not the same as his father, but he seems awfully sadder than when Hermione was speaking to him. Like the appearance of Malfoy has drained the life out of him.

“He was perfectly happy when he was talking to me,” Hermione meekly mumbles.

“Yeah, and what the fuck were you talking about?” The Slytherin regards her with a tilt of his head. “You were probably talking shit about me, huh?”

“ _No_!” Hermione’s voice rises and she takes a deep breath to lower it down, “Nothing like that. McGonagall told him not to share any of the future’s events. Only sparse details. So we were talking about books.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Books?” he repeats in disdain.

“Yes.” She hesitates to tell him about _Beowulf_ but realizes that he probably doesn’t know what the story is about.

“What else?”

Hermione pauses, remembering Scorpius’ questions. _Do you like my father_? “He asked me if I liked you.”

Malfoy snorts, rolling his eyes. He turns back to the kid and glowers at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching. Hermione takes this moment to drink him in and realizes that in the whole time that they were speaking, he never called her Mudblood, even though many openings were there in the first place. He never once insulted her, even though she questioned his parenting abilities. He never brought up the past, even though it would be easy to do so.

He is acting _civil_ towards her.

“I can imagine what your answer was,” Malfoy mutters and he doesn’t look at her when he speaks. “You despise me, Granger. Most of you do.”

A silence so thick Hermione feels her chest tightening envelops over them. She has no idea how to look at Malfoy after the war. After Dumbledore’s plan to willingly be killed was revealed, her hatred towards him had dimmed. And after he refused to identify Harry at the Manor when they were captured by Snatchers, she wondered what it was like to be in the same shoes as him, being told to kill but being unable to do so. She saw him as a desperate asshole trying to win back the favor of Voldemort, even if it meant cornering all three of them at the Room of Requirement.

He lost his friend that day. The war took out much of his life.

Just like it did for her.

“Besides,” Malfoy drawls, glancing back at her with the corner of his eye, “Why do you care? He’s a Malfoy, I would’ve thought you’d hate him.”

“I’m not like you.” The words are out before she realizes and Malfoy’s eyes widen slightly. She continues on before she loses her courage, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I don’t hate on people simply because of something they can’t control. Whether it’s by name or blood. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Malfoy’s left eye twitches. He doesn’t say anything at first. “And what does matter to you?” he asks after a moment.

“Actions.” She looks at him. “Choices.”

The Slytherin’s eyes go dark, like he’s remember something. And then in an instant, he turns towards her. Hermione sees the anger rushing over Malfoy’s face in an instant. His face contorts and before she realizes, he’s dangerously close, spitting at her. “You think I had a choice?” he demands, his entire body shaking with fury, “My whole _family_ was on the line. You think its easy for you and Weaselbee and Scarhead to make the right choices? At least you had one.”

Hermione doesn’t blink. She stands her ground, even though a part of her wishes that she didn’t have to go so low. Malfoy has been civil enough and she took advantage of it. She watches as the Slytherin, his eyes like little slits, takes a step back. He looks just like a snake, his mouth curled into a scowl and his movements wary. Without breaking eye contact, they face each other. Slytherin and Gryffindor. Malfoy and Granger. The two people who have never seen eye to eye can’t seem to break away first. 

“Don’t go near him again,” Malfoy finally says, looking away, “You lot might’ve saved my life but don’t think that this makes us friends.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Hermione replies, scoffing. “The day you and I become _friends_ is the day all hell breaks loose.”

Malfoy nods. “Glad to see that we’re on the same page.”

Then he turns around and leaves. Hermione watches his silver hair head back to where Scorpius is waiting, sees Malfoy's shoulders tense in anticipation at the sight of his son again, and something in Hermione's chest twists and turns when she sees the young boy's gaze slide towards her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please leave a comment if you liked the chapter! 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	8. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! Good news: our internet is back and my fever is gone so I can get back to constant updates here on out. I'm actually quite inspired, especially since I binge-watched a lot of Dramione videos. You all should check out a few links that I'm going to send here: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=51LXHTMllXY [this one is sooooo good]  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZHdQnA2FKBs [heartbreakingly beautiful]  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGSJfV_fbYw [just watch everything so that you'll be as inspired as i am]
> 
> Also, I noted a few of your comments. I'm really sorry regarding the way I write Scorpius' thoughts. I can't wrap my head around what an eight-year-old should always be thinking about. And I kept justifying it because he's a smart little kid, that's why he knows a lot of shit but, note taken, I should keep him kiddish. And also somebody pointed out that McGonagall was a bit OoC, but all I can say is that she's just a Headmistress trying to have some transparency around Hogwarts which is why she's announcing what's going on. They've been through a war, after all. I don't think the students would be too happy if there were some secrets still lurking about.

 

 

> “ _The wrong man is not always wrong because of his wrong actions, often he is wrong because of no actions.”_  
>  ― Amit Kalantri, Wealth of Words

 

* * *

 

For the next few days, Scorpius is ‘grounded,’ as Blaise would coin the term, in the Slytherin Common Room. Since Draco and Blaise both have classes and are studying for the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, they’ve pretty much left Scorpius alone to wander the dungeons.

Of course, Scorpius is upset. He has never been grounded in his entire life. Father has always been lenient and kind to him, compared to Draco, who gets irritated even at the sound of his voice. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand why Draco is so mad that he’s here in 1998, since it was barely his choice in the first place. But he keeps quiet about it. He has no idea what to do when his young parent is mad, so he’d rather stay out of his way.

It’s officially been a week since he was transported to 1998. So far, he’s managed to make a few friends within the Slytherin dorm rooms, such as Milicent Bulstrode and Tracey Davis, both of whom seem friendly enough, sharing that most Slytherins are not exactly the bad guys people make out to be. He spends most of his time chatting with them when Draco and Blaise are out doing whatever it is that they’re doing, and they rarely tell him what they’re up to anyways.

Scorpius doesn’t let it get to him.

He hasn’t spoken to Hermione Granger for a whole week now and while he tries to tell himself that it’s not _biologically_ impossible for her and his father to end up getting married in the future (he says this because he and Hermione share the same qualities when it comes to books), it seems _historically_ impossible. Judging from Hermione and Draco’s last encounter, Scorpius can guess that they’re not friends _at all_.

Hermione had used the word _indifferent_ to describe her feelings towards his father. Scorpius asked Milicent Bulstrode what it meant and she answered, without even having to look at him: “You know, when that person is dead to you. You wouldn’t be bothered to give a fu-- _I mean--_ you could care less about that person’s well-being.”

So that’s why Scorpius, against his instinct, decided that maybe Hermione Granger isn’t his mother at all. Besides, she doesn’t look like the type to abandon her kid. Or maybe--she just doesn’t like him in the future.

 _That’s stupid_ , _she’s not like that_ , Scorpius thinks to himself, staring at the same sentence that hasn’t conveyed meaning in his brain for the past half hour. He’s in the Slytherin Common Room, perched on the couch near the fire with a book propped open about Salazar Slytherin’s ancestry. It’s Saturday, so most of the Slytherins are out hanging out with their friends or enjoying some festivities at Hogsmeade. Scorpius has never been to Hogsmeade but he doubts that Draco will allow him to go there.

He checks the time and does a double-take. It’s nearly 10. He’s been wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hasn’t realized just how much time has passed. Shutting the book on Slytherin, he slides off the couch and proceeds to the dorm rooms. A few of the residents are already heading to bed or chitchatting with their roommates. Scorpius can hear the echo of their voices bouncing off the brick walls of the dungeons. Most of them keep to themselves. Tracey explained that it’s because many Slytherins have been branded as Death Eaters or have Death Eater connections due to their parents serving Lord Voldemort a few months back. Many of the Hogwarts students don’t try to engage with them, even though many of them are innocent. “It’s hard to convince the world what you’re not,” Tracey told him, “especially when they think they already know what you are.”

Scorpius comes to the seventh level of the dorm rooms a minute later and finds it empty. Blaise and Draco still haven’t returned. He sighs, places his robes at his own dresser and walks over to the window showing the Black Lake, using his father’s bed for some height leverage. He squints at the darkness but finds no Giant Squid staring back at him. Disappointed, he’s about to return to his own bed when he hears a crunch from beneath his knee, covered by his father’s bedsheets.

Frowning, Scorpius runs his hand along the covers of the bed and finds a photograph hidden under the pillow. He fishes it out and stares at the content.

It’s a family picture. Scorpius recognizes his father and grandmother immediately. Draco looks to be fifteen here, but the difference between a few years is staggering. He has weight to his limbs, color in his hair and cheeks, and his eyes hold a mischievous glint to them, as if he spent much of his years playing pranks and teasing countless other people. He is smiling at the camera, leaning closer to the person to his left side. Standing to his left is his mother, Scorpius’ grandmother, who looks as elegant and stern as ever. Even though she does look healthier and happier in this moment, her blonde hair tied in a high ponytail and her lips quirked in a haughty smirk. She squeezes her son’s hand. But there’s another person in the picture, standing to the right side, one that Scorpius has never seen before.

He looks exactly like Father. There are only a few notable differences. The man in the picture has long silver hair, reaching his back, with a thicker body frame compared to Father’s. While Father has a small beard, the man has none. And while Father’s eyes are always gentle and kind, Scorpius can feel the emptiness radiating off the man’s empty stare. They even have the same eye color, but the difference is immense. The man stands proudly, his chest puffed up, and his smile cold. In the picture, he reaches out and pats Draco’s shoulder.

Scorpius can feel the hairs at the back of his neck standing up.

This must be his Grandfather.

“I see what you’ve got there.” A hand reaches out suddenly and plucks the picture out of Scorpius’ grasp. The young boy yelps and whips around, only to find Blaise looking down at him with a smile on his face.

“I’m sorry!” Scorpius immediately says, bowing his head in shame, “I didn’t me--mean to snoop around!”

Blaise rolls his eyes. “I don’t mind,” he says, “You’re just lucky that it wasn’t Draco who caught you.”

“Is he here?” Scorpius flinches at the thought.

“No.” Blaise glances back at the photo, studying it carefully. “I don’t know where he is. He’s usually alone at this time of the night.”

Scorpius’ hands itch to take back what he found. Call him a snoopy kid or whatever, but this is _his_ family. And he tries not to feel hurt at the thought of Father keeping his mother _and_ Grandfather a secret from him. He looks up to find that Blaise has returned the photograph underneath the pillowcase.

“You’ve never mentioned your Grandfather,” the older boy says, glancing at him.

“I can’t say,” Scorpius replies.

“Did Draco tell you about him?”

“He doesn’t even talk to me.” He hates the hurt that has seeped into his voice.  

Blaise sighs and plops back down on Draco’s bed. For the past week, Scorpius has talked to Blaise the most. And it’s often because Blaise is the only person who reaches out to him, who acts like the designated godfather from the future. Draco is still as broody as ever, distant and careless. Like he has better things to do than watch out for a kid. Scorpius tries not to resent that fact.

Blaise pats the empty space on the bed. Scorpius shrugs and sits next to him.

“Now, Scorpius,” Blaise says, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “As your godfather, I have a fatherly duty to abide by you, am I right?”

“I don’t know--”

“Glad we’re on the same page.” The Slytherin clears his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Look, I can’t say that I don’t understand what Draco is going through. He’s still a kid. What, you two only have like a ten year difference. And the War just ended a few months ago. He has a lot of stuff on that small little brain of his.”

They both snort. But the grin on Blaise’s face has disappeared. He takes a deep breath and gestures to the photo hidden beneath the pillow.

“One of those stuff is his own father,” he explains, and Scorpius finds himself facing more questions, questions he doesn’t even know how to voice out, “The reason he hasn’t been the best dad out there is because he’s not ready to be one. It sucks, I know. Dads always have the tendency to suck.”

Scorpius is quiet for a few more seconds.

“Is his father...” He hesitates but when Blaise tightens the grip on his shoulder, the younger Malfoy manages to press on, “Is his father a bad man?”

The look on Blaise’s face is clouded. “Yes,” he answers after a moment’s pause, “His father is a bad man.”

Scorpius remembers what McGonagall told Filch the night he was transported to Hogwarts. _Regardless of Mr. Malfoy’s past crimes, the Ministry has forgiven him. Why can’t we?_ He thinks back to Draco’s behavior and how he seems to slink away from human contact, distancing himself from everybody except for Blaise, the shadows under his eyes, the noticeable weight loss, the mood swings. He thinks back to Hermione’s reaction when they stumbled across one another at the infirmary. Why would one of the Wizarding World’s heroes react to his father like that? And now, Blaise has confirmed that his Grandfather did bad things. A picture is slowly being painted in Scorpius’ mind and he doesn’t like the outcome. He doesn’t like where it’s leading him and how easily the pieces seem to fit together. But most of all, he doesn’t like how he didn’t see it before, when it is all so clear to him now.

“Blaise.” Scorpius takes a deep breath. He doesn’t hesitate any longer. “Is my father a bad man?”

Blaise blinks at him, like he didn’t expect Scorpius to connect all the dots together.

“I--” he starts to say, obviously unsure on how to answer. So that’s what he does. He doesn’t answer at all. “Scorpius, it’s best if you talk with him. Not many kids have the chance to talk to their dads before they become dads.”

Which is an answer in itself already.

Scorpius looks away, feeling sick. Feeling like the world has tipped on his axis and he’s currently falling into the ends of the sea. He looks away from his godfather, manages to stand on his shaky little legs and walks back to the comforts of his bed, where he can feel his heart shattering at the thought of his father ever committing terrible, terrible things.

//

Scorpius wakes up to the sounds of vomiting.

It’s the middle of the night. He can guess that much from the stillness of the room and the darkness pressing down on his chest. Feeling his dried tears on his cheeks, he rises from his bed and remembers everything that has happened with his conversation with Blaise. When the reality of the situation slaps him across the face, he feels a pounding behind his eyes that makes him wish he hadn’t woken up in the first place.

But the sounds of vomiting continue and curiosity drags Scorpius away from his bed and towards the bathroom. All the dorm rooms have their own showers, as to minimize traffic during the early mornings. Scorpius glances over at his father’s bed and finds it empty. He spots Blaise in his own bed, sound asleep. The rest are empty, which probably means that the rest of the seventh years are either still awake or sneaking around the castle.

Somebody is still hurling in the bathroom. Scorpius maneuvers his way through the darkness and finds the door slightly ajar. When he pushes it open, he sees Draco hunched over the toilet, his robes discarded but the back of his shirt wet. He’s vomiting the contents of his stomach but Scorpius can smell something else other than vomit, something so strong he immediately makes a guttural sound at the back of his throat.

It’s the same smell that Father and Blaise alway bring around whenever the latter comes for a visit holding a bottle in his hand.

Draco looks over his shoulder and sees him standing by the door.

“What are you doing still up?” he asks, the anger in his tone only faint as compared to the other times.

Scorpius traces Draco’s anguished features with his eyes. The older Malfoy’s hair is plastered all over his forehead with sweat, there are deep shadows under his eyes and he is deathly pale, with lips as white as a sheet. And even though Scorpius knows now that this is the man who can be considered a bad person, the man Hermione Granger would draw her wand upon, the man that he realizes he barely even knows, he still considers this man as his father.

“I heard you,” Scorpius answers, stepping close, “I thought it was just somebody else.”

“Tough luck.” Draco leans back on his hunches, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Scorpius knows that the situation might be dire but he steps inside the bathroom regardless and asks, “Are you okay? Did you eat something during dinner?”

Draco’s eyes narrow. Scorpius braces himself for a scolding but none comes. Instead, he watches as the teenager moves to stand up, flushing the toilet along the way and turning the faucet on to wash his hands. His entire posture is wary and tense, with his eyes constantly moving back and forth between his current task and his son still standing by the doorway. But Scorpius doesn’t leave.

“I had a drink too many,” Draco finally responds, shutting the water off and staring at his reflection in the mirror, “Nothing you should concern yourself with.”

Scorpius doesn’t say anything else. Draco looks away from his reflection and nods at him. He doesn’t look fine. He looks like he’s going to collapse straight into the bed a few minutes from now. But there’s something about his energy and vibe that feels less antagonistic. Like he’s an injuired puppy on the side of the road. He feels _haunted_ , even.

Scorpius almost feels bad for him.

“What else do you want?” Draco suddenly asks.

In half a second, Scorpius’ brain goes haywire. He wants a _lot_ of things. He wants to get back home to his real father and cry about everything that he’s missed--like his bed and books. He wants to find his real mother here in Hogwarts, so that when he gets back to his real time, he’ll be able to see her with his very own eyes. But most of all, he wants answers. He wants all the answers that’s eluded him for the eight years that he’s been alive, because he knows that there’s something missing. Something has _always_ been missing and he has to find it.

“You look like you’re going to ask me something bloody important,” Draco grumbles, running his fingers through his hair.

Scorpius doesn’t want to ask. He really doesn’t. But there are so many questions that have been pilling up in his head for the longest time now. Back home, he has always been able to talk to his father about anything and everything, even if it meant Father just nodding along to whatever he was saying. This time is different. This time, Father is Draco Malfoy, a teenager who’s done bad things in his life and who has no idea what it’s like being a father. Scorpius came into the year 1998 thinking that the only mystery to be solved is the identity of his mother, but it’s not just that.

It’s his father.

Scorpius has no idea who his father really is.

“’What happened to you?” Scorpius mumbles, his heart hammering loudly inside his chest. It feels like a terrible, terrible time to ask such a question but his curiosity is burning and he’d be a coward if he doesn’t face his own father in dealing with the pretense of time itself.

Draco only stares at him. After a moment, he sighs and takes a step forward. His jaw is twitching, like he’s grinding his teeth together. Scorpius flinches.

“Where’d you get the balls to ask me that?” the older Malfoy mutters, shooting him a glare.

“I just--” Scorpius swallows. “I--I just wanted to know what happened to you. Father doesn’t tell me anything about hi--himself.”

“You should be grateful he doesn’t.” Draco moves into the dorm room, his shoes padding loudly against the floor. He keeps his voice low as to not wake Blaise. “What the hell do you want to know?”

“You--you know,” Scorpius tries to say, his fists shaking as he follows, “I--I want to know why you don’t sleep, where--where you go in the mid--middle of the night and why--why you hate me so much.”

Draco pauses, his shoulders still tense. He says something under his breath.

“What?” Scorpius asks.

“I said.” Draco glances at his son over his shoulder. “I don’t hate you.”

The admission of those words shouldn’t have relieved Scorpius as much as it did. But it does. He feels a wave of calm wash over his entire body and with this calm, he suddenly realizes just how badly he needed to hear those words said out loud. He’s been battling with a father’s neglect for the past week and that undeniable weight has pushed him to the very brink of a breakdown. His whole life--he’s only had his father, his godfather and his grandmother. This is the only family he knows of. To be ripped apart from them -- space and time-wise -- has been too much.

He’s still only a little kid, after all.

Draco’s eyes widen at what happens next. “Oh shit,” he says, when Scorpius starts bawling, “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t go crying on me, you little-- _come on_.” He scoops the younger Malfoy into his arms and Scorpius immediately latches on to his shoulders, where he allows himself to cry into for the next few minutes.

Scorpius sobs. He doesn’t even feel bad about it. He expected Draco to lash out at him, but this embrace is a welcome change for once. Gripping Draco’s shirt in his hands, he tries to keep his bawling to a minimum but even with the older Malfoy rubbing soothing circles against his back, it doesn’t ease the pain. It awfully feels like there’s a huge stone stuck in his throat and no matter how hard he tries to breathe, the stone remains. Within a span of a few seconds, his crying has lessened to the occasional hiccup but the tears still stream against his cheeks. He has tried to keep his tears from Draco’s watchful gaze, but he has exploded like a dam and there’s nothing to stop him from expressing just how badly he misses home.

Draco carries him back to the Slytherin Common Room, where there are no other inhabitants. Waving his wand in the air, the older Malfoy conjures a hearth from the fireplace and slides Scorpius into the couch, where the child tries to cover his wet eyes and red nose from his father’s stare.

The only sounds are the crackling of fire and Scorpius unsuccessfully trying to keep his hiccups quiet.

After a long silence, Draco finally speaks: “I was in the Room of Requirement,” he explains, not looking Scorpius in the eye, “That’s where I lost my friend during the Battle of Hogwarts. I haven’t been able to sleep much because of what happened. No, wait--I haven’t been able to sleep at all. Because of the nightmares. I thought it would help me out if I went there for a couple of nights. Tonight, I just brought along some firewhi--and you don't need to know that.”

Scorpius doesn’t say anything, for fear that Draco might stop talking if he does so.

“Look, kid,” he begins again, letting out a deep sigh, “If I’m going to end up becoming your father one day, you gotta know this: I’m going to have some secrets and its usually for your sake that they stay as secrets.”

More silence. Another sigh from Draco.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he continues on, his voice rough, “I did not have the best father figure growing up. I’m sure you know much about The Dark Lord, especially since you’re a nosy little bookworm.”

Scorpius manages to find his voice. “Do you me--mean Lord Voldemort?”

The only light in the room might only be coming from the fireplace but Scorpius doesn’t miss the way Draco flinches at the mention of the name.

“Yes,” the older Malfoy concedes, his shoulders dropping pathetically, “His name still holds power over me. I call him The Dark Lord.”

“He did bad things.” Scorpius thinks of the many terrible things he’s heard about Voldemort and shudders to think about it. “You told me that much in the future.”

“Ah--yes.” Draco clears his throat. “Well, after my father, Lucius Malfoy, was incarcerated at Azkaban, he sold me off to The Dark Lord to appease for his lapses. Kid, it was a very dark time and we only had our name to ourselves. If we weren’t forgiven for our mistakes, we--we were doomed. My entire family was _doomed_ . I was tasked by _him_ \--by Lord Voldemort to--to--”

A cold draft sweeps across the room and Scorpius feels the cold gripping him tight by the throat. But Draco doesn’t shiver. Instead, he doesn’t look like he notices the sudden drop of the room temperature. His eyes, grey but bloodshot around the corners, are wide with instilled fear.

“What did he make you do?” Scorpius whispers, already dreading the answer.

Draco doesn’t seem to have heard him. He looks away and stares into the fire for the longest time. Scorpius doesn’t interrupt. The moment is too precious to do so.

“You should go to bed,” Draco suddenly says and the cool mask slips back on, “Come on, I’ll even try to read you a stupid bedtime story.”

Scorpius sighs. So much for not interrupting. With his entire face still feeling sore after all the crying, he allows Draco to lead him back to the dorm rooms, the older Malfoy’s hand firmly placed on his son’s shoulder. The walk back is silent and Scorpius thinks that his father is possibly one of the most haunted men he’s ever met. Because after Scorpius is tucked back into his bed, he wakes up an hour later to find Draco wide-eyed and still awake, his wand illuminating light as he stares at the picture of his family in his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo again guys! This chapter, I had a little bit of a mental block but hopefully that has disappeared. There are a few pieces of the story that I've already handed out to you guys but don't worry, it's going to get juicy af. Also, I just plotted out the entire storyline and HOLY SHIT, this fic little here is going to get into 20+ chapters most likely. But I can't do those amount of chapters unless I get more support and comments from you guys because they really get me going! So once again, please leave a comment down below regarding this current chapter and I will see you in the next one! 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	9. Innocence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Dramione shipper! Watch out, sparks are going to fly and an adorable Scorpius Malfoy is headed your way. I wanted to write something light and happy, especially since I always feel a lil bit depressed after writing out Draco's thoughts. Also, my favorite redhead is about to make a reappearance and I hope that you'll like the way I wrote her.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for all your comments the previous chapter. It really pumped me up! Even though I have a thesis to write and countless other shit to do, I really really wanted to thank you for such kinds words from the other chapter so I decided to write immediately. I hope you'll like this chapter, I made it longer than I expected to keep you guys happy. I'm very, very satisfied with it. 
> 
> I'll see you after the chapter. Ciao!

>     
>  _“Children begin by loving their parents; as they grow older they judge them; sometimes they forgive them.”_  
>  ― Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

 

* * *

 

When Hermione ducks into her Advanced Potions class, the first thing that catches her eye is Draco Malfoy, sitting alone at the very back of the classroom. He looks worse today: his silver hair ruffled and unkept, the shadows under his eyes more prominent and deep, and his usual, snarky aura somehow _off_. He is one of the few Slytherins to actually be part of this class, but the rest of them seem to have skipped classes today, so he’s alone.

Hermione finds herself staring at him longer than necessary. Until Luna Lovegood pops into her view.

“What’s wrong, Hermione?” she asks dreamily, smiling at her, “You seem out of it today.”

Doubting that entire sentence in her brain, Hermione shakes her head at the Ravenclaw. “I’m fine, Luna,” she answers, “I just had a very difficult Transfiguration assignment to pass today.”

“Oh, I forgot that you took so many N.E.W.T classes despite having the opportunity not to,” Luna flippantly mutters, before she brightens up enough to ask, “How are Harry and Ron, by the way?”

Something in Hermione’s throat stutters.  She gets her weekly letters from them, but they’re still too busy rounding up rogue Death Eaters after the war and speaking up at trials. She mostly gets her updates from Ginny, since Ginny seems to be the only one actively reaching out to them. Hermione doesn’t want to talk or even _think_ about it.

She has other things to worry about.

“Oh, you know them.” Hermione shrugs. “Busy being heroes and all.”

“That’s good.” Luna’s usually glazed eyes fix onto hers knowingly. “I hope that whatever is bothering you right now will be fixed. It doesn’t suit you, looking unfocused.” With those parting words, Luna returns to whatever she was doing before Hermione entered the room.

Shaking her head, Hermione finds a seat next to Hannah Abbott and Michael Corner who greet her with warm smiles. They engage in a conversation regarding a Death Eater resistance in the outskirts of the country, which Harry and Ron were apparently a part of.  As they discuss further about where the rest of the enemies are hiding, Hermione finds her eyes trailing back to where Malfoy is sitting. He doesn’t seem to be listening to their conversation but he seems to sense her staring. He shoots her a scowl reserved for vermin and looks away.

“Do you think Malfoy knows where the rest of the Death Eaters are?” Hannah asks, following Hermione’s stare.

Hermione lets out a sigh. “I doubt it,” she says, remembering the events at Malfoy Manor, “He’s been pardoned by the Ministry. He’s not stupid enough to do anything Voldemort-related.”

“Yeah, but what about his father?” Michael raises an eyebrow when Hermione grows quiet. “Do you really think Lucius would just give up his willy ways? If you think so, you might not be the smartest witch of our age, Hermione.”

Before Hermione can actually respond, Professor Slughorn walks into the room. Everybody settles down, the noise in the dungeons quieting, as the elderly man waves his wand for some words to appear at the blackboard. Hermione immediately conjures up her quill to take down notes and as she’s writing it down, she realizes that she recognizes the contents of the potion, as she’s tried to make it countless times back at the Burrow, when everybody was still grieving the death of Fred.

Slughorn clears his throat. “Good morning, class,” he begins, dabbing at his forehead and biting back a yawn, “Today, we have been tasked by our Headmistress to assist with the Infirmary. Our supplies for Sleeping and Calming Draughts have, of course, been emptied after the events of last year. Many students need it on a nightly basis. Which is why today, I will be pairing you with your fellow classmates to relinquish the stocks. You will be asked to provide a few cauldrons full of Sleeping and Calming Draughts. Since this is all very basic and the instructions are up on the board, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Hermione can hear a few groans from the class. Which is understandable. While the Sleeping and Calming Draughts might be second year and fifth year level respectively, they are both tedious potions to craft and need the utmost concentration. Hermione wonders who she might get paired up, especially since Ginny isn’t in this class. Ginny has been her go-to partner for most of her classroom activities, because Harry and Ron aren’t here.

 _Ron_ \--she bites her lower lip and tries not to think about her best friend. After their shared kiss at the Battle of Hogwarts, everything has been _awkward_ . She’s aware that she kissed him first, but that was because she believed that there was a chance they both might die that night. It had been _now or never_.

But--she just can’t look at him that way. Maybe it is supposed to be _never_. Whatever the case, she and Ron are at a standstill. There is this strange ache in her chest--the ache to see him and hear his stupid crack up jokes, but at the same time, there is an ache for things to get back to the way they were before--before they went Horcrux hunting, before they won the war, before they kissed…

“Ms. Granger, I assume that you’ll be okay with this arrangement?”

Hermione blinks. Oh right. She’s still in class. Perking up immediately, she sees that Michael Corner and Hannah Abbott are both looking at her with wide eyes and subtly shaking their heads.

Slughorn is also looking at her. “Miss Granger?” he asks again.

“Yes, yes, of course professor,” she stammers, not wanting to look like a blubbering idiot, “I’ll be okay with anything.”

“Good. Then you and Mr. Malfoy will be partners. Mr. Corner and Ms. Abbott will do the same. Now, okay class, switch it up so that you’re all seated with your partners.” Slughorn turns back to the blackboard to add a few more instructions, leaving Hermione to gape at what has happened. Michael and Hannah both give her sympathetic glances.

“I guess you’re not that smart today. Hermione,” Michael comments offhandedly, before he and Hannah leave for the next table.

Hermione shuts her eyes for a few short seconds, thinking about every little thing that could go wrong with this pair assignment and wishing that she actually has a Time-Turner to change back time and change her answer. The rest of the class are all paired up with their respective partners: Luna with Dean Thomas, Michael and Hannah, the Patil twins and several others that Hermione isn’t friends with. And of course--she just _had_ to get Draco Malfoy, of all people. She slides off her lonely table and heads over to her new Potions partner, who has his arms crossed and is glaring at her with more venom than ever.

“Malfoy,” she greets pleasantly enough, putting her bag on their table.

“Granger.” he spits in response, sighing loudly, “I seriously didn’t think you’d take his bait. I could’ve worked alone.”

Deciding that she’s not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was thinking about Ron, Hermione lets out an equally loud sigh and quips, “I think this will be good for us, Malfoy. Especially with the reasons that Professor has listed.”

“He only listed one reason why you should be paired up with me,” Malfoy grumbles, glancing at her, “and that was because you’ve already met up with my kid.”

“Yes, I--I was clearly listening.” Hermione clears her throat and starts writing down whatever it is that Slughorn is adding on the blackboard.

The Sleeping and Calming Draught _have_ been in general use since the war. People just aren’t sleeping as well as they should. It’s a problem that the school expected, but greatly underestimated. Hermione cannot count the countless times she’s walked into the infirmary in the middle of the night to ask for some Sleeping Draught, only to find ten other students who had the exact same idea as her. It’s understandable that Slughorn and Madam Pomfrey can’t cope with the amount needed to sustain the students scarred by the war, but this solution seems like a chore for the seventh years studying Advanced Potions.

Malfoy catches her attention when he stifles a yawn from behind his hand.

“I think you should definitely use some of the Draught, Malfoy,” Hermione tells him, “You look like you haven’t got a wink of sleep.”  

“None of your business if I’m not sleeping as well as you,” the Slytherin snarkily says in response, not even bothering to glance over at her. Hermione rolls her eyes.  

Slughorn clears his throat to catch their attention again. All of the students stop with their chit-chat to face him. “Now, in order to guarantee the amount of Sleeping and Calming Draughts needed for the entire population in the school.” the elderly man states, “I will require each pair to create at least _ten_ cauldrons” -- more groans from the class -- “of their assigned draughts within the span of two weeks. It is a chore, I admit, but I promise you that you will get extra credit out of this for your upcoming exams. Now, go ahead and serve up your first cauldron today.”

Hermione tries to hide an annoyed groan. Brilliant. More work outside of class. Now she has to meet up with Malfoy during her free time just to make some Sleeping Draught with him. She’d love to do it on her own, but she sees an opportunity in the dire situation that she’s found herself in and she’d be damned if she doesn’t use it to her advantage.

“Malfoy,” she begins as the Slytherin starts preparing the ingredients, “Are your Wednesdays free? It’d be great if we just finished this off within a few days--”

“Hate to break it to you, Granger,” he says, brushing the fringe off his grey eyes, “but I don’t want to see you on any other day of the week. Plus, Sleeping Draught? You could practically do this with your eyes closed, unless hanging out with Weaselgirl and Loony over there has severely drained your brain--”

Hermione slaps his hand with her wand and he lets out a small yelp. A few of the Valerian Sprigs roll out of the table and onto the floor.

“Quit it,” she says, “I don’t like it anymore than you do.”

“Then don’t suggest it, you buffoon.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and picks up the fallen ingredients. “I told you the last time we fucking interacted. We are _not_ friends.”

“What makes you think I’d want to be friends with an Dea-- _asshole_ like you?” Hermione bites her tongue when _Death Eater_ nearly slips out of her mouth. Thankfully, Malfoy doesn’t seem to have heard her as he is too busy rereading the instructions on the board, apparently in a hurry to get the first cauldron finished as soon as possible.

The atmosphere between them seems to have worsened. Letting out her second sigh during their entire interaction (as he so kindly put it), Hermione finally decides to stop beating around the bush and straight up tells him what’s been on her mind the past few days: “Malfoy, I wanted to ask you how Scorpius is. I haven’t seen him around the castle.”

 _There_. A response. Hermione sees Malfoy’s jaw tense.

“The kid is none of your bloody business,” he grumbles, shooting her a deathly glare, “and you should stop shoving your nose to places it doesn’t belong to.”

Hermione rolls her eyes for nth time as she waves her wand to _accio_ some lavender sprigs from the cabinets. Malfoy is in the middle of heating up the cauldron, but his eyes are moving between his task and towards her. She has his divided attention, which is better than his condescending attitude from earlier.

“As a matter of fact,” the Gryffindor says, “I actually _like_ your kid, Malfoy. And I’m worried once I don’t see him running around the castle. You could’ve done something to him.”

“As if I’m the kind of person who would hurt his only, living child.” He pauses suddenly and the heat on the flame dies down, too low for the potion’s necessities. Seeing this, he shakes his head and mumbles, “He’s fine” before returning to his previous task.

“I assure you, that’s actually not comforting to hear.” Hermione turns back to crushing the rest of the ingredients into the mortar. “He seems like a good kid, you know.”

Silence. Malfoy doesn’t say anything else. When Hermione looks over at him, she sees that he’s now staring into the contents of the cauldron, a furrow between his eyebrows and a frown placed on his lips. The past week actually seems to have a more negative toll on him. He doesn’t look any better than before. He hasn’t always looked healthy, but now he’s losing sleep. Hermione can’t even remember the last time she saw him at the Great Hall, actually eating a meal.

He looks up and locks eyes with her. “I’m aware,” he states, “that the kid isn’t exactly like me.”

“That’s supposed to be a good thing,” Hermione responds, breaking off eye contact.

“Piss off.”

More silence. Hermione stares down at the mush inside the mortar. It’s not exactly the creamy paste that she’s used to so she resumes to crushing the ingredients. Malfoy checks back with the instructions on the board and starts adding Flobberworm Mucus to the cauldron, where it starts to emit a ghastly smell. Yes. They’re on the right track. Hermione actually has to admit that in silence, Malfoy isn’t such a bad partner.

Which makes her wonder…

“Why did you return to Hogwarts, Malfoy?” she asks, unable to hide her curiosity.

Malfoy glances up at the ceiling, the expression on his face saying: _Oh dear Slytherin, why won’t she shut up_? Hermione doesn’t let it get to her. Years of being Harry and Ron’s third wheel has made her immune to such looks of disdain and annoyance. Besides, Malfoy has given her worse expressions over the years. This isn’t exactly as hurtful as before.

“Bloody hell, you rarely shut up, do you?” he mumbles, pinching the bridge of his pointed nose.

“It was a simple question!”

“Stop prying into my personal life!” Malfoy sneers at her, low enough that Slughorn won’t hear but shrill enough to let her know that he’s seriously starting to get ticked off. His eyes have grown dark with anger. “It’s none of your business if I return to this fucking school or not, and it’s definitely none of your business if my kid is eating his veggies but” -- he jerks his head at the cauldron -- “it _is_ your business to actually get this Sleeping Draught finished so that I don’t have to spend another minute with you, _Mud_ \--”

Hermione raises her eyes at him in defiance. Malfoy stops himself. He shuts his eyes, breathes through his nose and lets out a deep breath.

“Granger,” he finishes off lamely, pointing at the cauldron, “Just fucking finish the potion.”

//

After being pestered by Granger to at least arrange this Wednesday as their meet-up for Potions, Draco has to wonder how Potter and Weasley could actually put up with such a nuisance. He leaves with a pounding headache and a dire need to drown his sorrows into a bottle of firewhiskey but he can’t. Not now. Not after what happened with the kid the night before, when he was vomiting and he actually looked _worried_ for him.

It doesn’t feel right, being cared for by somebody who isn’t his mother. It doesn’t feel right at _all_ , especially when the kid looks like him and he looks exactly like Lucius…

“Hey, Draco!” he hears Blaise’s voice from behind him and decides to slow down his gait. The rest of the crowd move out of his way, like he’s carrying some sort of disease, which he tries not to be pissed off about. He was supposed to be headed to his next class, which is Charms, but it doesn’t start for another thirty minutes or so.

“What is it?” Draco asks his friend, turning his body around and raising an eyebrow. Blaise looks like he just ran a couple hundred of miles, holding his stomach as he tries to catch his breath.

Blaise points to back to the direction of their Common Room. “You got a bloody owl from your dad. I put the letter under your pillow to stop anybody from reading it,” he explains, still breathing heavily, “Also, Scorp asked for permission to head to the library since the dungeons are starting to bore the fuck out of him.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, thinking about the letter first. “I’ll read it later.”

Blaise shoots him a strange look. “So, you’re not upset that I just let your son run amuck the halls of Hogwarts?”

Shrugging, Draco turns back to the direction he was headed to. He hears Blaise following in his footsteps and wonders what the letter from his father could be about. Maybe it’s something related to the Ministry of Magic, or maybe the aurors have  rounded up a few distant family members in their family tree. Whatever the case, Draco wishes that classes would end sooner so that he can get some peace and quiet to read about word from home… even though it hasn’t felt like home for the longest time.

Blaise clears his throat. “So, how are you and Scorpius? You don’t seem as pissy as you used to be when I mention his name.” There’s a small cocky grin written all over his features, which is something only Blaise Zabini can dare after being Draco’s only remaining friend.

“Watch it,” is Draco’s only response. He moves into Flitwick’s classroom, a class he thankfully does not share with Granger, and finds it to be empty. Apparently, he and Blaise are too early, much to their chagrin. “You should keep your mouth shut if you want me to have a good mood for the whole day,” he adds.

Blaise chuckles and mumbles something about Draco never being in a good mood. They slide into the chairs at the very back of the room and start doing the homework that they were supposed to do last night, had it not been for the persistent need not to do so. As they work, Draco thinks back to all the homework he was able to do years ago simply because he had a bunch of little kids doing it for him. That was mostly due to Crabbe and Goyle, but now that they’re both gone…

He shakes his head to drive away those thoughts.

“Merlin, Flitwick is going to kill me,” Blaise mumbles, “I don’t even understand half of these runes.”

“Shut up,” Draco grumbles, shaking the parchment dry, “We could’ve easily done this last night if you hadn’t shown up with your stupid firewhiskey.”

“Not the one who finished the bottle, asshole.” Blaise grows quiet after a few moments. Draco is actually thankful for the silence. Until Blaise puts down his quill and disregards his homework, turning to face him with a quizzical look all over his features. “Say,” he begins, pressing a finger against his temple, “You never told me where you went after I showed you the firewhiskey.”

Draco stills. He has told Blaise sparse details about what went down at the Final Battle, but never really about how it was his fault Crabbe and Goyle were in the Room of Requirement in the first place. Those two might’ve been the stupidest duo he might’ve ever met, but he knew them from childhood and one of them followed him to the death.

Even though it was a stupid, useless death.

He tries not to feel the stab in his chest at the thought of his loyal subjects and wonders if the pain he’s feeling right now will ever go away.

“None of your business,” he just tells Blaise, “I’ve got other things to do.”

“Scorpius was wondering where you went off to,” Blaise remarks casually, “The kid gets worried.”

Draco remembers his carbon copy hovering by the doorway of the bathroom last night, looking sick and cautious. As if he knew that Draco was a snake who could bite and would definitely bite if provoked, but still went in regardless. He doesn’t understand why the sight of the kid crying after being told that he isn’t hated by his father made his chest hurt, and why hugging him felt like the easiest thing in the world, next to breathing.

“He has no reason to be worried,” Draco mumbles, “I’m not the one who needs to be babysat.”

“Yeah, you should definitely keep an eye out on Filch, though,” Blaise tells him, “He can fucking sniff out firewhiskey a mile away.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Draco stretches his arms above his head and in doing so, lets the sleeve of his robes fall back to reveal the large scar on his left arm. What is left of the Dark Mark. He flinches at the sight of it, even though he does feel grateful that it’s not the skull and snake that’s staring back at him. He’s only had his Mark for a year but he feels tainted somehow, like it’s a smudge of ink on a perfectly white shirt just staining him entirely

He can feel his friend staring at the scar so he tugs his sleeve back down. He takes careful consideration to keep it hidden, but he knows that its always there. Blaise is lucky that he doesn’t have it on him.

Draco grinds his teeth as a memory resurfaces. He thinks back to Malfoy Manor, when Potter and his stupid friends walked into a Snatcher trap and had to be identified and where he watched Granger getting tortured by his crazy aunt right in front of his very eyes. The punishment leading to Potter’s escape had been one of the worst and Draco can still feel the wrath of the Dark Lord’s anger in his veins, turning it into lead and setting his entire body on fire. He felt what Granger had felt with the Cruciatus Curse and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

Most of the scars have faded but Draco still has nightmares that the Dark Lord is following him, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, exactly like a snake would.

 _Bloody war_ , he thinks to himself and rubs his eyes. He really needs to get some semblance of sleep. Otherwise, he’ll go mad.

Blaise nudges him gleefully and asks, “Hey, mate, do you think Flitwick won’t notice if I hex his hair off?”

 

//

The library is awfully empty today. Scorpius, with his _Hogwarts: A History_ tucked safely into his arms, proceeds with caution as he travels in between towering shelves of books. There are so many books in this place and it’s just an average library. He hasn’t exactly been outside of the Manor for most of his childhood, but the books he has in his room seem laughable compared to _this_ place. There are even Restricted sections for books that are probably too not-his-age. He’s pretty sure that there’s even a secret doorway hidden in this floor, leading to _more_ and _more_ books.

“Wow,” he says out loud, twisting around to admire the hugeness of the library, only to trip backwards into somebody’s legs protruding from under a table. He lets out a small yelp and falls into the ground, hitting his head against the foot of a bookshelf and making stars pop out of his eyes. How many times does he have to get hurt within this month?

“Whoa, whoa, you okay there, Malfoy?” The sound of a girl’s voice reaches his ears and gentle hands move to his shoulders, lightly shaking him.

Scorpius blinks the stars out of his eyes. When he raises his head to look at the girl, he finds a shocking wave of red staring back at him. Then he blinks again to see that a girl with long, red hair tied in a ponytail, bright brown eyes and freckles dotting her cheeks is looking at him with the same perplexed expression he probably has on his face. She’s wearing the standard Gryffindor clothes, with her wand peeking out of her skirt.

Wait, where has he seen her before?

“Whoa, you really, really look like Malfoy,” she comments offhandedly, her eyes studying his face with careful precision, “It’s so _weird_.”

“I’m so--sorry,” he stammers, rubbing the back of his head, “but what were you doing on the floor?”

The girl’s eyes widen comically. “Oh.” She lamely waves back at her hiding place, a table placed against the shelf containing the books on Muggle studies. “You know, I kind of dropped my wand there or something. Yeah. Yeah. It’s no biggie--”

Scorpius raises his eyebrows in skepticism and the redhead gives him a small smile before letting out a huge breath. “Okay,” she adds defeatedly, sighing, “Between me and you, kid, I get really bad nightmares at night and end up sleep-walking to a few strange places. Come on, it’s not like you haven’t tried that before, right?”

“Okay, but why were you sleeping at two in the afternoon?” Scorpius questions, rising to his feet and trying not to stumble into the rest of the shelves. “I get the sleepwalking thing, though. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody else that.”

The redhead snorts. “You better not tell your father or else I’ll never hear the end of it.” She helps him get up to his feet and for a few short seconds, they just stand there, cramped in between shelves of books and trying to come up with what else to say after the bizarre first meeting they’ve just had. Finally, the redhead takes a seat on the table she was just sleeping under and pats the empty one next to her.

“Come on,” she says, her eyes twinkling at him, “I’ve always wanted to see you up close.”

“You still haven’t answered my question,” Scorpius slyly points out but he sits down anyway.

“Okay, you got me, kiddo.” She clears her throat, apparently embarrassed, “I really don’t sleep at all during the night. So I just end up just crashing at whatever place seems comfortable enough to sleep in.”

“Under a table is comfortable enough for you?”

“I’ve slept at worse.”

They both share a laugh. Scorpius looks back at her under hooded eyes, still wondering why she seems so _familiar_. He’s pretty sure he’s never met her in person before, but her face reminds him of a sports magazine he might’ve encountered a few months back.

“Oh, I forgot to introduce myself,” the redhead states, stretching out her hand and raising a quirky eyebrow at him, “I’m Ginny Weasley. Your father might’ve mentioned me on some occasion, I presume.”

“No, he actually hasn’t,” Scorpius mumbles awkwardly, shaking her hand.

Ginny looks offended. “What a git!”`

It takes Scorpius a few seconds to actually piece together who this girl is but when he finally does, it feels like his entire brain has been illuminated with a quick _lumos_ . A memory of _The Daily Prophet_ ’s cover page featuring an older version of the redhead in front of him resurfaces in his brain and it just _clicks_ . He lets out a childish gasp, much to the surprise of Ginny, and tries to keep his squealing to the minimum as everything finally falls into place and oh _Merlin_ \--this is Ginny Weasley-- _the Ginny Weasley_ \--!

“You’re Ginny Weasley!” he nearly yells out and the librarian at the front desk shushes him from afar. He clamps his mouth shut but can’t keep his grin away and Ginny lets out a small, awkward laugh, even though she’s clearly confused about what’s going on.

“I’m sorry but this is obviously the first time we’ve met, kid,” she tries to say but Scorpius just continues to shake his head.

It’s embarrassing to say that he’s an avid watcher of the _Holyhead Harpies_ in the future and that he once owned a signed picture of Ginny Weasley, head captain and overall best Chaser in the entire league of Quidditch, but he can’t help but feel like he’s just met one of his real-life heroes, even though this Ginny clearly isn’t the Ginny from the future. And she clearly isn’t one of the chasers of the _Holyhead Harpies yet_.

“I’m your biggest fan,” Scorpius gushes, feeling his palms sweat under the pressure of being in the same room as _the_ Ginny Weasley, “I can’t say what I’m a fan _of_ since Professor McGonagall told me not to tell anybody about the future, but _wow_ \--I never expected to see you in person, like, _at all_.”

The look on Ginny’s face is _priceless_ . Scorpius wishes he could snap this picture and post it up on his wall for the entire world to see. He’s met Ginny Weasley before she became _the_ Ginny Weasley! He shakes her hand again and there are so many words in his brain that just aren’t connecting to his mouth so all he’s doing is just shaking her hand over and over again without actually saying anything and then--

“This is very weird for me,” Ginny admits earnestly, looking as confused as ever, “I would’ve expected you to not even like, talk to me, since I’m somebody your family would consider a Blood Traitor.”

The word makes Scorpius stop shaking her hand. He misses the wave of apprehension that crosses Ginny’s face.

“What’s a Blood Traitor?” he asks after a moment’s pause.

Ginny’s mouth drops. “Okay, now this tops my weird list,” she says a while later but the smile she gives Scorpius in return is blinding compared to the one she gave earlier and Scorpius immediately feels a whole lot better, even if he still doesn’t understand what Blood Traitor really means...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of my little interaction with Ginny and Scorpius there? I always, always feel like Ginny's character in Dramione fanfics is butchered and sidelined so I wanted to give her an entire snippet. Since she's one of my favorite characters. Also, I just reread HBP, and apparently, Blaise Zabini is a vain little piece of shit and I should definitely write more about that. Gosh. Can you imagine Blaise just talking to his reflection the same way Gaston would? Amazing.
> 
> Anyway, please keep on commenting. Your words are always a joy to read, regardless of how short they are. They mean everything to me and it's definitely taking away my writer's block. 
> 
> Once again, I'll see you in the next chapter. 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	10. History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack! Hey guys, I'm so sorry for uploading so late. I got a serious case of mental block and not even reading your comments could help subdue it. And I was also really, really sick for a couple of days LOL. But I think I'm feeling quite better now. Anyway, this is what you'd consider a filler chapter. You know, I'd really like to skip the whole thing and just get to the parts that I WANT to write about but I can't, because that would be very unfair for you lot. But keep on reading and I'll keep adding answers to some of your questions hehe. 
> 
> Also, I love me some Blaise and Scorpius action in this chapter! *wink wink* (pls dont call the FBI on me, I did not mean it like THAT.)
> 
> I'll see you after the chapter.

 

> “ _She looked at me, and she saw something no one else did. Even I don't know what._ "  
>  ― Ella James, Fractured Love

 

* * *

 

After spending most of his afternoon gushing with _the_ Ginny Weasley, Scorpius is on a giddy high that he hasn’t felt in quite a while now. Sure, Ginny seemed confused about their entire conversation, since Scorpius always stopped himself from diving into too many details regarding the future and she eventually agreed to sign a piece of paper with her signature on it, a keepsake that Scorpius will be bringing with him once he gets back home--

 _Home_.

Scorpius, on his way back to the Common Room from the library, stops dead in his tracks. _Right_. He was supposed to be researching on ways he could possibly get back on his own time without the need of a functioning Time-Turner, but the appearance of Ginny has made his initial intentions slip out of his head. And now he’s back to square one with nothing to do, a whole castle to explore, a father he barely knows and a mother he also doesn’t know anything about.

Brilliant.

The halls are empty. Scorpius looks down at the book in his hand and flips through the pages. He doesn’t like the idea that anybody could see him doing this. The book holds a very special place in his heart and he doesn’t want to entertain the idea that somebody would nose into his business. He’s been studying it for the whole week he was grounded and he’s found more scribbles and words within the margins of the pages, all the ys and gs curved like the first sentence he saw. Most of the writings are additional information regarding that specific topic. Others are just thoughts on paper. Sometimes, Scorpius can’t even read half of what the words say, mostly because it’s been so long since this book has seen the light of day and the ink has faded… He also hasn’t found any initials linking a living person as the owner.

He can’t give up hope. Father might be a pessimistic when it comes to certain events around their lives, but he _knows_ that the time-travel happened for a reason and that the reason is connected to his mother, whom he has never known his whole life… A wave of sadness washes over him and he shuts the book to hold it against his chest, trying hard not to feel like a lost puppy left on the side of the street. Taking a deep breath, he heads back to his temporary home.

It’s already 6 PM. Not wanting to eat dinner, Scorpius passes by the Great Hall to glance inside and sees Hermione Granger eating with a few of her friends. She seems to be interested in a book she has propped open right next to her and Scorpius feels a spark of recognition at the sight of her like this, eyebrows furrowed with concentration and her teeth nibbling on her lower lip. Maybe he’s grasping at straws, but he does the same thing when he reads as well. Father has always told him that he has a habit of ‘chewing his lip like it’s a piece of candy.’

But he thinks back to Draco and Hermione’s interactions the last time they saw each other, and wonders if Romeo and Juliet, one of the many books Father has read to him, works for wizards and witches too.

“Oi.” Somebody smacks the back of his head, making him yelp. When he turns around, he sees Draco and Blaise staring down at him, eyebrows raised. Scorpius rubs the back of his head and shoots both of them a glare.

“You don’t always have to hit me,” he grumbles.

“That didn’t even hurt,” Draco just replies, cocking his head to the Great Hall. “Are you eating dinner?”

“No,” Scorpius mutters, “I don’t feel like eating dinner right now.

“Did you catch the flu or something?” Blaise asks, sounding a touch bit worried and Scorpius feels a swell of warmth rise in his chest. “Going to bed without dinner is terrible for your health. Hey, Draco, you should be the one telling him this.”

Draco shrugs, but he glances at his son with a slight furrow in his eyebrows. Ever since last night, when Draco embraced Scorpius to stop him from crying, the tension has dissipated whenever they are together in the same room. The past week, Scorpius has been terrified of being alone with him but now, it seems easier. Like a large lump in his throat has gradually vanished over time. Of course, Draco hasn’t softened the least bit, but at least he has stopped being so angry with Scorpius all the time.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat even some bread?” Draco asks, glancing back at the Great Hall. “You’re already as thin as a broomstick.” Scorpius watches his eyes narrow at the sight of Hermione.

“I’m not hungry,” is what Scorpius answers in return.

“If you say so. Anyway, I’m off to send a letter,” Draco tells them both indignantly, “so don’t come looking for me. Blaise, look after the kid while I’m gone.” With that final word, he turns around and heads to the Slytherin Common Room, sending a clear vibe that he obviously wants to be alone for the rest of the night.

Scorpius lets out a soft sigh. So much for wanting to talk to his father. He glances back at the Great Hall, with its tables of food and students, all of them seemingly happy and content, not lost or confused as he is. His eyes find Hermione again and, almost as if sensing his stare, she looks up to try and find the source. But Scorpius has already dragged his sights away and moves forward to roam the hallways, with Blaise a silent entity behind him.

The hallways are empty, since everybody is off having dinner at the Great Hall. Ever since Scorpius arrived here, he has spent most of his time in the Common Room, due to being ‘grounded’ unceremoniously by Draco, but he now spends this time to admire the archaic walls of the school, and the medieval carvings it has retained after several long decades. The suits of armor are all lifelike, but he notices that some of them have several missing limbs or weapons, as if they’ve endured a battle that cost greatly. Scorpius knows that this was the year Lord Voldemort was defeated and that it only took two months for Hogwarts to be fixed, but he can’t help but feel as if something still lingers beyond these walls...

The book in his arms grow heavier and he has to pause by a hallway with a staircase leading to some floors upstairs to catch his breath. Blaise, still silent (which Scorpius realizes now is strange), takes the book from his hold and moves to sit on the steps and the young boy follows suit. When Blaise nudges him to gesture at the book, Scorpius nods and this allows the Slytherin to skim through the pages to his heart’s content, even though it is clearly obvious that he’s already read this book during his earlier years at this school.

They are silent again. Scorpius doesn’t understand what has triggered such a reaction, but he knows that he’s not in the mood for talking or making jokes, which is something that Blaise is good at. The dawning realization of how his book might be a dead end has saddened him greatly. He has fooled himself into believing that getting transported back in time is Destiny’s will, but perhaps it isn’t... And maybe there’s a chance that he won’t be able to get home at all...

“Hey, Scorpius,” Blaise says quietly, as if he’s had a thought that’s been nagging him for quite some time now and Scorpius all of his own thoughts away, “I wanted to ask you something.” He shuts the book and returns it to the young Malfoy, who silently takes it.

“What is it, Blaise?”

“You might be wondering why I was so quiet earlier,” Blaise cheekily says, grinning at him, “but that’s just because I was really, really thinking about something.”

“Father always told me he’s surprised that you actually think at all,” Scorpius recalls and he snorts when Blaise pretends to slap the back of his head.

“How hilarious of your father,” Blaise comments, running his hand through his shaved head, “but seriously, Scorp, I have to ask you a personal question.”

He looks so serious that Scorpius puts down the book between them and faces his godfather. The chill in the air has picked up and Scorpius can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Goosebumps. He rubs his arms and tries to keep from shivering. Blaise might retract his question if he sees him looking so shaky already.

“I wanted to ask you about your mother,” Blaise tells him, dark eyes twinkling when he sees Scorpius tense. He gestures at the book between them. “Is this hers?”

“I--” Scorpius doesn’t know what to say. He hasn’t really talked to anybody else when it comes to his mother, only answered a few questions about her. It has always been a well-kept secret for him and he hasn’t dared to ask his father -- both past and present -- any details about her, for fear that he might invoke his wrath. His mission to find his mother has been his and his alone. The thought of telling Blaise remotely _anything_ about all the nights he has witnessed his father’s insomnia and the times his heart leapt when he got even the smallest bit of information about his mother seems like a daunting task, and he’s not sure if he’s actually up to it.

But Blaise reaches forward and puts a comforting but firm hand on his shoulder and Scorpius realizes that he really doesn’t want to do this alone anymore...

“I don’t know,” he answers shakily, already feeling the start of tears prickling the back of his eyes, “I don’t think this is my father’s. I don’t recognize the handwriting.”

“But you think this is hers?”

“Uh, yes. It was in the Archive room.”

Blaise nods, looking at him sadly from the corner of his eye. “I don’t know anyb0ody who writes like that too,” he mumbles, “It’s unfamiliar for me. But maybe that means she’s not a Slytherin, which is really unlikely, when you consider Draco--”

“She’s a Gryffindor,” Scoprius cuts him off, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath, “You told me she was a Gryffindor. In the future.”

When he opens his eyes to look back at his uncle, it is an understatement to say that Blaise is surprised. He looks shocked, as if somebody has just told him that Draco Malfoy is running for Minister next week. It should be funny, of course, but Scorpius isn’t laughing, because this type of reaction is exactly what confirms his deepest fears: that nobody would ever think that Draco and Hermione would end up having a kid together. The disappointment tastes bitter in his mouth and he looks away from Blaise’s wide eyes and open mouth.

“Bloody hell, really?” Blaise asks, flabbergasted, “Draco would never--I mean, he _hates_ Gryffindors--”

“Why does he hate them?” Scorpius interrupts once again and this promptly shuts Blaise up.

“Kid, that’s a really loaded question--”

“I think it’s simple.” Scorpius glances back at his godfather, his face awfully blank. Blaise looks away from his gaze, uneasy.

There’s another tense silence, one that slowly eats up both parties without either of them knowing about it. Blaise looks conflicted, his face scrunched up in a scowl while he wrings his hands in front of his seated position. He seems to be gathering what would be the right answer but Scorpius can clearly see that even _he_ doesn’t know what the right answer is. It takes a few more minutes and another intense stare-down at Blaise who refuses to look back at him, but eventually, Blaise relents.

He mumbles something about getting a drink later before he swivels around to face Scorpius again. His face is set. “Scorpius,” he begins, reaching forward to place both hands on the child’s shoulders, “When I tell you that it’s not an easy question to answer, believe me, okay? I’ve known Draco since we were kids, but that doesn’t mean I know _everything_ about him.”

“I didn’t ask you to tell me _everything_ about him,” Scorpius snaps in return, “I just want to know why he hates Gryffindors so much.”

“And that’s what I’m going to tell you,” Blaise patiently tells him, “Hating Gryffindors is a Slytherin thing, not a Malfoy thing.”

That makes Scorpius pause. He read in _Hogwarts: A History_ about some sort of rivalry between the founders of the two houses: Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin. Now he understands why Blaise thinks it’s such a loaded question. There’s lots of history gone bad between Slytherins and Gryffindors alike. However, he’s about to say that it’s a stupid reason to hate on a house simply because somebody else did millions of years ago, but Blaise must’ve sensed his frustration, because he shakes him again.

“I’m not finished,” he says, chuckling to himself, “Damn, you’re just like your dad. Chill. Anyway, it might be a Slytherin thing, but Draco has a personal vendetta against a few Gryffindors in mind. You know Harry Potter, right? Golden boy from Gryffindor?”

Scorpius nods.

“Did you know that Draco and Potter were once sworn enemies?”

Stunned, Scorpius slowly shakes his head.

“Did you know that Potter saved Draco’s life at the Battle of Hogwarts, even though they’re enemies?”

Again, Scorpius shakes his head.

“Did you know that Draco has this stupid attitude problem where he’s not grateful to people who saves his life? Instead, he hates them?”

Once more, Scorpius shakes his head. Solidifying the fact that he really doesn’t know his father at all. Blaise look at him for a couple more seconds, his jaw tense, before he releases Scorpius’ shoulders and leans back. Another unbearable silence. Scorpius’ mind is swimming with newfound information. Yes, he knew that Draco and Harry Potter were classmates, but he never knew the extent of their relationship and how bad it actually was.

In the future, Harry Potter is _everywhere_ . There’s always something new going on about him. Scorpius cannot count the countless times he’s found Harry’s face staring up at him from _The Daily Prophet_ \--always with the words _The Boy Who Lived_ still following him around. He has always been fascinated with what happened at the Second Wizarding World War and how Harry is in the middle of it all. The books always have conflicting sides to who Harry is at the core, but if there’s one thing that they can agree on, it’s the fact that Harry Potter defeated Voldemort when he was only seventeen years old. Only a year younger than Draco is now. Father doesn’t talk much about him. He doesn’t really talk much about anything, in fact.

It says a lot about who Father used to be if he’s enemies with _The Boy Who Lived_.

“Draco is a complicated person,” Blaise tells him after a moment, “You should know that by now.”

Scorpius doesn’t say anything, not knowing what to feel about this new found information. The wind leading upstairs suddenly picks up and he feels a chill run through his entire body. He glances over his shoulder towards the staircase and feels an ominous feeling in his gut, like something sinister has happened at the very top of these steps and he’s only a hand’s reach away.

“What’s up there?” he asks Blaise, who follows his gaze.

“Astronomy Tower,” the Slytherin answers quietly, “A lot of sh-- _stuff_ happened up there.”

“It feels like it.”

Scorpius can sense Blaise staring at the side of his face. “Hey, Scorp,” the teenager begins again, clearing his throat, “Why does it matter to you that Draco hates Gryffindors?”

“It doesn’t,” Scorpius is quick to say, hoping that his face won’t betray his thoughts, “I was just asking myself.”

“Does it matter to you that Draco hates Granger?”

Another pause. Scorpius wonders if Blaise is secretly a Seer, or if he spends most of his time just trying to figure him out. The younger Malfoy tears his gaze away from the steps leading to the Astronomy Tower and looks dubiously at his godfather, who is wearing a small but cocky smile on his face. Like he’s unlocked a treasure chest with all the Galleons in the world. Scorpius scrunches his nose in frustration and lets out another sigh.

Great. Another secret unfolded by Blaise Zabini.

“Am I really _that_ obvious?” he mumbles, a slight whine to his voice.

“No, no.” Blaise lets out a small laugh. “Trust me, it takes years of knowing Draco Malfoy to even remotely guess what he’s thinking. I’ve just had a lot of practice with your lot.”

“It’s just,” Scorpius tries to explain, but finds out that he doesn’t know how to. How can he explain to Blaise that Hermione Granger seems like the perfect mother for him? She has all the characteristics that he has kept away from the world and when they were together at the infirmary, it just felt _right_. Like the world has suddenly switched from being black and white to a colorful array of art on a canvass. She’s a Gryffindor with brown eyes and a knack for reading, just like him. Just like what Uncle Blaise and his Grandmother has told him over the years.

How can he explain all of that to Blaise without sounding like a little kid who just wants a mother? Even if it means thinking that his mother is the first girl he bumps straight into?

“You think she’s your mother,” Blaise says out loud, without Scorpius having to say it for him.

The silence is back once more. Like a cold splash of water on Scorpius’ face. He feels the dread settle in his stomach as he remembers what Blaise has just told him. Harry Potter and his father were -- _are --_ rivals. If Hermione is one of Harry’s closest friends, surely that means that there is no chance for them to get together. Scorpius can’t really wrap his head around it. He doesn’t understand why Draco would hate someone as nice and pure as Hermoine Granger.

“Scorpius,” Blaise calls his name again and he looks up from the floor to find the Slytherin’s dark but kind eyes gently comforting the inner turmoil he has.

“I--I know that it’s im--impossible,” the boy stutters, struggling to properly breathe, “but she just feels like what I al--always imagine my m--mom to be like.”

“Hey, hey. Chill, brother.”

The silence in the hallway is no longer a hindrance. With Scorpius’ heart thrashing wildly inside his chest, it is actually quite comforting now. Blaise doesn’t say anything for a while, probably waiting as Scorpius tries to calm his breathing. When the child finally starts to feel calmer again, Blaise pats the back of his head and clears his throat. An obvious sign that what he’s about to say is going to be a long one.

“You came here like two weeks ago, right?” he starts, not bothering to wait for a response, “When Draco told me that his future kid had traveled all the way back here using a Time-Turner, I was actually thinking that I’d just get another Malfoy lookalike with his personality and attitude. You know, like a cheap version of a Firebolt. No offense. But I really, really thought that you were just like your father.”

The smile that Blaise gives him is kind and it warms Scorpius up.

“But you’re not,” Blaise tells him, grinning broadly as he shakes the boy’s blonde hair, making him yelp, “You are so clearly not your father it’s scary sometimes. But that’s a good thing. Because Draco was a twat when he was your age. And you -- little Malfoy -- you wear your heart on your sleeve. I can see that there’s a little Gryffindor in you. You have your mother to thank for that. Normally, that would disgust me but I’d have to make an exception for you. ”

There’s something about those last words in the entire speech that makes Scorpius feel like he’s on top of the world. Getting a little bit choked up, he clears his throat and looks back at his godfather who moves to stand up. There’s something really odd about Draco and Blaise whenever they talk to him about something important. They always pretend that they haven’t said anything.  Maybe it’s just a Slytherin thing, but Scorpius has to wonder if they’ve gotten used to hiding their emotions.

“Come on,” Blaise states, “Draco might get pissy again.”

“What’s _pissy_?”

//

Draco is having nightmares again. He’s dreaming of the Dark Lord’s voice creeping after him as he runs through a dense forest, constantly hitting sharp branches and nearly tripping on large roots sprouting from the floor. Around him, he can hear a loud hissing noise, exactly what a den of snakes would sound like. He doesn’t know where he is, nor how he got here -- all he knows is that he has to get out of here. Pure survival instinct pushes him to keep running, even though he’s exhausted, even though his lungs feel like they’re about to burst, even though his legs are about to snap apart with the pressure.

He suddenly trips on a tree root.

When he falls, the ground beneath him disappears. He flails around in the darkness, trying to catch some footing or even a handhold but he gets nothing. He falls and falls through the air, unable to see anything but knowing that behind him, the Dark Lord is still searching, still chasing, still desperate to kill him once and for all...

A sudden chill surges through him and Draco knows, without a doubt, that Voldemort is here, his hand only a few inches away while the other raises to cast a spell: A _vada--_

A gasp erupts out of his throat, shaking him awake. He comes in the middle of the Common Room, having fallen asleep on the couch next to the empty fireplace. He hasn’t seen Blaise or the kid since dinner and he can now feel the emptiness in his stomach as he moves to stand up. The undershirt he’s wearing is soaked through with his sweat. When he touches his eyes, he can feel the tears spilling from the corners and he lets out another shaky breath. There’s something about the Dark Lord’s presence that always makes him feel like a scared little kid during Father’s tantrums.

He checks the clock on the wall. It’s half past two a.m. Still shaken from the nightmare, Draco looks for his wand among the cushions of the couch, trying to find a desperate hold on reality or even some semblance of power. When he finds it, he holds it tightly in his fist, tight enough that it might even snap in half.

 _Breathe_ , he tells himself, _fucking breathe_.  

His eyes move to the letter from his father that has fallen on the floor during the nightmare. He only read it once, since there was only a single sentence inside: _Ministry rounding up the remaining Lestranges._ It is meant as a warning. Father doesn’t repeat things. Draco can read the hidden message between the lines. _Don’t fuck up or else they’ll come for us too_ . Whispering ‘ _incendio,_ ’ he watches the paper burst into flames.

Rubbing his eyes as he tries to level his breathing after that horrible nightmare, Draco tries to think. His mind has been clouded lately. With the kid in the mix, he hasn’t been able to focus on his studies, much less what’s happening outside the walls of this godforsaken school. He doesn’t remember the last time he’s owled his mother, even though she still occasionally gives him treats and chocolates once in a while, regardless of the fact there’s no occasion worth celebrating. A pang of longing hits him straight in the throat. God, he misses his mother. More than he’d like to admit out loud.

Draco decides he needs to get some fresh air. Even though he’s pretty sure that Filch and that stupid fucking cat of his are patrolling the hallways for any potential trouble, especially from the Slytherins, he still grabs his coat from the couch and heads out of the exit, making sure to keep quiet. When he peeks out into the hallways, the darkness and the silence greets him.  But he sees no snooping housekeeper.

Sliding out of the dungeons, Draco keeps his wand at bay and lets his feet lead him to wherever. He can still feel the sweat clinging to the back of his neck and he tugs at his collar to let himself breathe. With his thoughts still muddled from the half dream-like state he woke up in and the creeping dread that there’s somebody following him, he ducks his head down and tries to keep his footsteps light.

God, what he’d give for a shot of firewhiskey...

He walks and walks, not caring where he’s going. But when a cold draft walks into the room and runs through him, his head snaps upwards as the realization of where he is settles in. The familiar stage of this part of the castle leads back to some unsettling memories resurfacing and Draco feels like throwing up his empty stomach.

He’s at the foot of the Astronomy Tower. The stairs are empty, ghostly even. It makes him remember--Dumbledore’s face appears in the back of his eyelids. _I once knew a boy who made all the wrong choices_ . No. _No_ . He didn’t make any wrong choice. He _didn’t_ have one. Fucking Dumbledore, always thinking that everybody’s got a choice when they don’t. A flash of anger hits him straight in the throat and for a few second, he struggles to breathe. Memories of that night are taunting him again. This is why he rarely comes to this side of the castle, why he refused to take Astronomy as a N.E.W.T class. It is simply too much to bear and endure.  

His thoughts are interrupted when he hears footsteps coming down from upstairs. Thinking that it’s Filch, Draco ducks behind a pillar and waits it out, his heart hammering loudly inside his chest. He seriously doesn’t want to get dragged back to the Headmistress’s office for just loitering around the hallways. The Slytherins are already given enough shit after the war. He doesn’t want to give that old hag more reason to keep a closer eye on him.

He keeps his wand pointed at the ground. The footsteps are getting closer. Who the fuck is here at this time of night? The Sleeping Draught they made during Potions would be enough to keep everybody knocked out for a few hours unless--

He’s being paranoid again. There’s no way Death Eaters would show up at this school.

He takes a deep breath when the footsteps seem to be right by his ear. They are light against the floor but still noticeably loud against the dark of the night. Perhaps the person is sleepwalking? Draco doesn’t have a fucking clue. All he knows is that he has to keep still so that people won’t suspect him of doing something Death Eater-ly in the middle of the night. God knows how much people actually trust him nowadays.

The person passes by his hiding spot. When he sees Granger walking back to wherever her Common Room is, her back turned to him, Draco is almost tempted to call out for her. Maybe insult her a couple of times. Or even demand what she was doing at the Astronomy Tower. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches her leave. She’s wearing pajamas -- maroon, like a fucking Gryffindor -- but there’s something in her hand. He can’t tell what it is since it’s so fucking dark. Definitely not her wand, though.  

Apparently, he’s not the only one having trouble sleeping.

He watches her go. Her hair is an ever bigger mess. It looks like a fucking owl’s nest. Her shoulders are slouched and she walks sluggishly, like she’s fighting off the urge to fall asleep right there and then. Her footsteps are soft, but she seems to drag her feet as she goes along.. Of course, when you’re one of the most beloved witches of the century, you’d think the rules don’t apply to you. Draco used to think the same thing.

When Granger rounds a corner, Draco allows himself to finally breathe. Bloody hell. What the hell was she doing up there? To the place where all of his nightmares began? How fucking fitting that the Mud--that _Granger_ would be in the same place. She’s the closest personification to a nightmare than anybody else Draco can think of. Besides the Dark Lord, of course.

He steps out of the shadows and heads back to his own common room. The object in Granger’s hand is what sparks his curiosity the most. At least now he’ll find something to talk to her about when they meet up for their next Potions assignment this Wednesday...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, boring right? Yeah, I can feel your boredom from a mile away. I'm so sorry guys. School has definitely caught up with me and I'm not really in the best headspace right now. But I will try my best for all of you. Just keep on commenting your thoughts and theories and it will definitely improve my mood. That's all. See you next chapter! I'll try to update once a week. Maybe every Sunday. 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	11. Perfect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's me again. So I'm actually directing a play for our school, so it has really taken time away from my writing, but I've steadily gotten my rhythm back lately. And next month, I have to defend my thesis so that I can actually graduate college lmao, so expect slower updates in the future. Sadly, in this chapter, there will be no Scorpius, because I really wanted to flesh out Draco and Hermione. I know you'll miss him, but he'll be back in the next chapter. 
> 
> Let me know if you enjoy this chapter, okay?

  

> _“My dad had limitations. That's what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm.”_  
>  ― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

* * *

 

Time goes by so quickly, Hermione decides. When she wakes up one morning on a particular Wednesday, she realizes that this is the day she’s supposed to meet up with Malfoy for their Potions assignment. Not wanting to admit that she’s been looking forward to this day for the whole week since it’s a chance to interrogate the god awful Slytherin about the whereabouts of his son, she goes about her old routine like normal. Since she was appointed the Head Girl position along with Michael Corner, a Ravenclaw who also came back for his final year in Hogwarts, she has the luxury of having a whole room to herself. She spends most of her time in here, studying for upcoming N.E.W.T.s and being a general shutout. Maybe that’s one of an added factor to why she hasn’t seen Scorpius around that much...

Hermione asked Malfoy to meet up with her at one o’clock in the empty Potions classroom. She gets there fifteen minutes early and decides to start preparing the ingredients, Muggle way. Not wanting to use her wand, she decides to walk around the dungeons to grab the necessities with her hands. As she works silently, with no other person in the room to disrupt her thoughts, she allows her mind to wander.

It’s in the middle of the October already, which means that Christmas is around the corner. She’s always had a knack of preparing Christmas gifts early, so that she doesn’t run out of things to actually give away when shops start closing up. Of course, what Harry needs the most is some sleep, but she’s not sure an entire cauldron of Sleeping Draught is a pleasant gift to receive. As for Ron... A memory resurfaces in her head: a sudden death-defying kiss that rocked her inner core at the Battle of Hogwarts. She also remembers the events leading to their separating after and a wave of shame and regret  rolls over her, so quick to come but not as easy to dismiss.

After the war ended, Ron and Hermione decided to go on their first date. It hadn’t gone well. Nearly everything that could go wrong _did_ go wrong. Their reservation was canceled due to Ron being late in picking her up, Hermione’s dress got splashed with mud, Ron forgot to actually bring his wallet... They decided to head back home instead and that’s when things _really_ worsened...

A sudden knock thankfully pierces through her thoughts. She nearly drops the mortar and pestle she was holding in her hands and whips around to find Malfoy standing by the doorway of the dungeons. He doesn’t look as bad as he used to but there are still shadows under his eyes. His clothes cling to him awkwardly. Clearly, he isn’t eating.

Hermione checks the time. It’s exactly one o’clock. She must’ve been really out of it...  

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Malfoy drawls, “I didn’t want to suffer a lecture from you if I ended up being a minute late.”

“I’m not as punctual as you might think,” Hermione shoots back, watching carefully as Malfoy enters the room with the same air of indifference he holds around people beneath him, “but, thank you for coming on time.”

“Don’t thank me, we’re not friends.”

Rolling her eyes, Hermione returns to getting the ingredients from the cabinets. Malfoy looks at whatever she’s doing and proceeds to preheat the oven. Again, they work in silence. Like the first time they worked together on this assignment. But the silence is starting to get to her. Normally, she’d welcome silence anywhere she went but this is Malfoy... and she’s never comfortable with Malfoy.

“Malfoy, I--” she starts to say, only to be cut off by Malfoy doing the same,

“What were you doing at the Astronomy Tower?”

Silence again. Hermione looks up to find Malfoy staring at her from behind the smoke of the cauldron, his face set but his grey eyes burning with unanswered questions. _Astronomy Tower_? The last time Hermione went there was last week, when she could barely get enough sleep and needed some fresh air. The Astronomy Tower was the closest place she could get to without running into Filch or his cat. Of course, she knew the significance of going there in the first place and has been aware of it since she stepped into Hogwarts last September 1. Everything that has happened there is forever etched into her memory.

Maybe she needed some guidance from Dumbledore himself.

“Wait--How did you know I was there?” Hermione questions incredulously.

“Does it matter?” Malfoy snidely responds. “I want to know what you were doing there.”

“Well, I also want to finish our conversation last week when I asked you why you came back to Hogwats.” She raises her chin in defiance as she prepares to mince the ingredients for the Sleeping Draught. “Guess we can’t have what we want, Malfoy.”

She hears the Slytherin grumble a few colorful words under his breath. They turn back to the task at hand, wanting to get it over with, but Hermione can sense a nagging frustration radiating off Malfoy’s aura. When she glances at him from under her eyelids, she can see how a vein is jumping under his skin and how tense his shoulders are. She thinks back to his question, knowing the full implication behind it well. Since she’s not a dimwit when it comes to past traumas, she knows that Malfoy probably hates the sight of the Astronomy Tower, as it was the place where he nearly killed Dumbledore.

She wonders if he, too, has nightmares.

“Are you not going to answer my question?” Hermione asks after a moment.

“What question?” Malfoy mumbles.

“Why did you come back to Hogwarts?”

Silence so thick not even a knife could cut through it settles over them both. Hermione, with the Valerian sprigs all nicely chopped in her hands, looks up to see that Malfoy has stopped whatever he was doing to stare at her with irritation. Looking less like the Slytherin with Death Eater parents and more of the bully she knew and tolerated in their earlier years, Hermione has to admit that Draco Malfoy hardly looks like anybody she should be threatened with. Especially now that the war is over.

“I hardly understand why I should tell you that information,” he tells her with spite, “Who knows? You might come crawling back to Scarhead like a filthy snitch.” 

“Malfoy, we saved your life back here,” Hermione quietly says, refusing to look away from his gaze. His eyes widen slightly but other than that, his features don’t change.

But he is the first to look away. “You could’ve easily left me for dead,” he states matter-of-factly, adding some Lavendar Sprigs into his own mortar, “Nobody would question it. What the hell does McGonagall teach you annoying Gryffindors anyway? To forgive and forget?” He scoffs, apparently amused at the simple act of compassion Harry had done for his sake. “Not in my dictionary."

Hermione sighs. With every move she makes to change his mind, more defenses seem to pop up against them. She doesn’t even understand why she’s trying in the first place.

Maybe it’s because of that kid of his...

Hermione’s not an idiot. She knows exactly why she;s trying to get under Malfoy’s skin.

She wants to know if there really is a future out there where Malfoy is kind to his own son, allows him to read from Muggle books and doesn’t teach him anything about blood supremacy. She wants to know if that future exists and how it connects to the present. But most of all, she wants to know how Scorpius is even related to the Draco Malfoy she knows now. The questions popping up now push her to pester the Slytherin once more,

“Let me put it to you this way,” she begins, dropping the Valerian Sprigs into the cauldron and dusting her hands, “Harry was simply returning a favor. You refused to identify him when we were caught by Snatchers at your Manor, and when it came to  saving you or leaving you for dead at the Room of Requirement, he chose to return the favor.”

“What good did helping you serve _me_?” Malfoy sneers, facing her, “We were severely punished when you shitheads escaped!”

“We _had_ to!”

“Of course you had to!” Malfoy snaps angrily, his eyes like slits, “No bloody idiot would want to serve a sadistic piece of shit like the Dark Lord. It’s not my fault my parents chose to follow that monster.”

Hermione takes a moment to think about her next response carefully. “Does that mean you’ve started to question everything that they’ve drilled into that pure brain of yours?"

Malfoy doesn’t respond to the question. Instead, he shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose. “I never had the misfortune of always hanging out with you, Granger, but dear _God,_ you are insufferable,” he spits out, frustrated, “You and your bloody questions. Why can’t you just mind your own damn business?”

“I think that we’re civil enough to hold a conversation--”

“ _Civil_ ?” Malfoy actually laughs. Hermione’s mouth drops open when she realizes just how long she’s heard her mortal enemy do _that_. “Civil doesn’t mean you can hold a conversation with me, Granger. It just means that I’m mature enough not to degrade, insult or hex you whenever we cross paths. Doesn’t mean that I don’t want to, though.”

Hermione pretends that the comment doesn’t sting.

“Fine.” Her voice cracks. She closes her eyes to take a deep breath. “Let’s just be civil.”

She crushes the wormwood into fine powder as Malfoy chops the Sopophorous jagged pieces. The only sounds that can be heard are the crackling of the fire, the press of powder against ceramic and the knife hitting the table repeatedly. One of the downsides of working at the Potions classroom is the deafening silence inside the walls and Hermione suddenly starts to feel like they’re both just waiting for something to happen.

Like there’s a bomb in the middle of the room, just waiting to explode.

After pouring the wormwood powder into the cauldron, she looks up at her Potions partner to find him looking at her quietly. She raises an eyebrow in question.

“I can literally hear you thinking from this side,” he mutters, “It’s fucking annoying. I actually have no idea what is more annoying: you bloody talking or you _not_ talking.”

“So what do you want me to do then?” Hermione snaps irritably.

Malfoy lets out a loud growl under his breath. Hermione expects him to lash at her again or to throw a hex or two at her. God knows that it won’t be the first time he’s done that. But instead, he rubs the back of his neck with one hand while other clenches the side of the table tightly. Hermione watches the Slytherin carefully, her hand already itching to move to her wand, knowing that any second from now, Malfoy might snap.

“I came back to Hogwarts because my mother wanted me to,” the blonde says after a moment, releasing a sigh that deflates his shoulders and makes him drop his hands. He has always looked unhealthy ever since sixth year, but Hermione notes it more prominently now, especially with the way his eyes have grown misty at the mention of his mother. She doesn’t say anything, for fear that Malfoy might stop talking once he hears her voice. “I didn’t fucking want to, but it was the only choice I had. I don’t think people would fancy having a Death Eater for a classmate.”

When he doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes, Hermione clears her throat and quietly asks, “What do you mean it was your _only_ choice?”

He glances at her with a scowl in his face. “Have you forgotten what I did?” he lowly asks. Hermione holds his gaze, unafraid. He drops the knife he was holding in his hands and turns to face her. The misty look in his eyes have faded, only to be replaced by an agitated glare that reminds Hermione of a rabid dog gone wild.

“Nobody has forgotten what you did,” Hermione answers in a quiet manner.

“Well, let me refresh your memory, just in case.” Malfoy raises a hand and starts counting on his fingers, listing down every wrong thing that Hermione has known and witnessed firsthand.“One: I have insulted, belittled, and bullied you and your fucking girl squad for _years--_ ”

He takes a step closer.

“Two: I nearly got your stupid hippogriff killed and that giant oaf kicked out of this school for just grazing my arm--”

Another step.

“Three: I have nearly murdered people just to complete my mission--”

Hermione moves just as he does, already knowing that there’s a wall behind her and no room to move if the lists gets longer and longer. Which she knows that it will.

“Four: I let Death Eaters into the school which ultimately killed that old geezer Dumbledore--”

He’s close enough that Hermione can smell him. Apples and coffee, with a hint of alcohol just clinging to his clothes.

“Five: I watched _you_ get tortured right in front of my very eyes and did not raise a finger to stop it--”

He still keeps moving closer. Behind them both, they can smell a ghastly odor coming out of the cauldron, which is not supposed to happen. They’ve completely disregarded their Potions assignment.

“Sixth: I supported every fucking thing that the Dark Lord did, because I wanted to save my own skin--”

Hermione bumps into the wall behind her and pulls out her wand out of her own robes. Malfoy, with only a few inches of space between them, stops immediately when he feels the tip of Granger’s wand pressing against his stomach. He looks down at her quick reaction speed and actually has the audacity to crack a smile.

Breathing heavily, Hermione waits for his next move.

“Seventh,” he begins, his grey eyes never leaving hers. Up close, they look haunted, cold and malicious. But at the same time, awfully beautiful. “I let you, Potter and Weasley save my life months ago and here I am, indebted to answer your goddamn questions.”

Malfoy steps back. Hermione realizes that her ears are ringing and that her heart is thundering loudly inside her chest.  She doesn’t lower her wand and watches as the young Slytherin gets back to their shared table to extinguish the flame. Unsure of what has just happened in the past few seconds and unable to get the adrenaline off her veins, she can only stand there in the small corner of the room and watch as Malfoy raises his head to answer her unvoiced question:

“My family has fallen out of grace, Granger,” he says calmly, as if he is merely stating the fact that the earth is round, “The Ministry won’t accept me if I ever came to work there. Which is a pain in the ass. My mother thought ahead and decided that graduating from Hogwarts would at least rub the stain off my fucking name.”

There is silence. Hermione finally lowers her wand. There’s something about the way Malfoy said those last few words, as if he’s finally accepted how wrong his actions were. It almost seems as if he’s grown self-aware. And almost as if a light bulb has been switched in her brain, she sees him differently now. He is no longer the ex-Death Eater who bulled her multiple times, who took the Dark Mark and tried to capture Harry to please the enemy. Instead, she sees him the way she expects Dumbledore would’ve seen him: a lost, misguided young boy who was forced to make a decision to save his family, even if it meant damning himself.

When she comes to this conclusion, a wave of pity washes over her. _Oh, Malfoy_.  

“Now move your ass,” the blonde grumbles, waving his wand to extinguish the liquid inside the cauldron, “We wasted a half hour just bickering.”

Hermione sighs. So much for being young and misguided. She hides her wand into her robes and moves to stand next to Malfoy, close enough to see what he’s doing but not enough to actually threaten his personal space. She follows the next instructions for the Sleeping Draught, all the while keeping a close eye on his hands. His fingers are long and thin, with the veins protruding from his skin. She can see the white lines that were probably deep scars from a battle she probably doesn’t know about.

“Well?” Malfoy asks roughly, not bothering to look at her, “I answered your question.”

“You want to know why I was at the Astronomy Tower,” she repeats.

A vein in the Slytherin’s jaw twitches. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Hermione grabs the mortar and pestle to start pounding some of the key ingredients in. As she does this, Malfoy moves to pre-heat the cauldron again. Hopefully, there will not be a second failed attempt. “Ever since the war, I’ve had trouble sleeping. Since I have a whole room to myself, I couldn’t really meet up with anybody or ask Ginny to calm me down when I wake up from my nightmares. So, sometimes, I just find myself walking around the castle to calm down my thoughts. Do you ever do that?”

Malfoy doesn’t respond. She continues anyway:

“Because most of the students are suffering from the same predicament, there’s usually a line at the infirmary for a glass of Sleeping Draught. I didn’t want anybody to see me having nightmares because there’d be more questions, so that night, I... I went up the Astronomy Tower--”

“Why there, specifically?” Malfoy asks, glancing at her with cold, dead eyes.

Hermione can’t bear to look at him. She knows that he’s probably thinking about the last time he was there. Harry told her about it. How Malfoy couldn’t even keep his wand straight, how desperate and guilty he looked, how hard he was crying as he tried to justify his actions. She’s never really seen Malfoy cry. Like, real, profound tears. But she can imagine it now. She can see him that night almost as if she really was there...

“Have you ever been so lost, Malfoy, that you go out searching for things or people that are no long there?” she murmurs.

Again, he doesn’t respond.

“I was searching for Dumbledore,” she confesses, “I did the same when my grandmother died. I was only seven. It was because of cancer. You know, when your body turns against you. I’m sure that we have a different name for it.  You might think of me as being stupid but--”

“I don’t, Granger,” he whispers quietly. It is the softest she’s ever heard him. When she turns, she sees that he’s looking at her carefully, his eyes sad and dark. It is almost as if he’s not really seeing her at all. Like he’s in the middle of the desert and she’s a mirage close enough to touch, which makes her realize how close he is for comfort.

Hermione unconsciously steps back, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “I--” she stammers, mentally slapping herself for sounding so unsure, “Right--sorry. Dumbledore has passed on, I know that, but it doesn’t hurt to try and remember him, right?”

Malfoy nods, apparently satisfied with her answer. He looks back at their cauldron, frowning at the contents inside. By breaking off eye contact, he has indirectly lightened the mood. Taking this time to inhale a quick breath, Hermione takes another look at their assignment and knows that they haven’t ruined their second batch, but when she raises her hand to grab her wand, she is slightly alarmed to find it shaking.

The way Malfoy looked at her then--it unnerved her. She’s so used to seeing him scowl and glare at her that the sight of the blonde, snobbish prick looking at her like a normal human being has understandably shocked her.

“Another question,” he suddenly says, watching as she pours the last few ingredients into the mix, trying to stop her hands from quivering.

“Don’t _I_ get to ask one first?”

“I asked you first.”

Hermione scoffs and waves her wand to increase the heat of the cauldron. Malfoy moves around the table so that they’re directly facing each other. This new arrangement is admittedly better. She can see everything about him--the ever calculating dark eyes, the mouth curled into a frown, the hands hidden within his robes.

“What’s your question, Malfoy?” Hermione crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.

“When I saw you leave the Astronomy Tower,” the Slytherin begins, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, “I noticed that you were holding something in your hand. What was it?”

Hermione tenses, knowing that the object he’s talking about is in her very bag seated on top of an empty table. Malfoy must’ve caught the reaction because he eagerly leans forward and tries to catch her averting eyes, his lips quirking into a small grin.

“Must you be so nosy?” she shoots at him, glaring.

“You fucking pissed me off last week,” he retorts, sounding smug, “This is my way of payback. Now, spill, Granger, what was in your hand?”  

“It’s none of your business.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” He straightens up and runs his fingers through his blonde hair. “I answered your stupid questions about my coming back here. I think I’ve been _civil_ enough  to warrant an opportunity to ask you what the _fuck_ was in your hand.”

Hermione sighs more loudly this time. “Since when did you start caring about being fair?” she grumbles under her breath and when he doesn’t budge or answer, she can’t help but grimace. Last week, she experienced a particularly bad case of insomnia. No matter how many times she tossed and turned, she still couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. Getting some Sleeping Draught from the infirmary without being caught was impossible without the help of an Invisibility Cloak, so she settled for the next best thing.

She slides off her chair and moves to her bag, knowing that behind her, Malfoy is watching her every move. After rummaging into the contents for a few seconds, she pulls out a small vial filled with small white tablets and throws it straight at Malfoy, who manages to catch it clumsily with his left hand. Guess he still has his Seeker instincts.

The Slytherin inspects the vial. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, glancing at her.

“Sleeping pills,” Hermione answers sweetly, checking the cauldron to see if the draught has a lighter color as described in their books. “ _Muggle_ sleeping pills.”

A look of disdain flashes across Malfoy’s face but it quickly passes. He puts the vial on the table and gives her a strange look. “You’re a fucking weirdo,” he says after a few minutes.

 _That_ Hermione did not expect. Sure, she expected him to not understand the concept of pills in the first place and for him to wear an expression of pure disgust at the mention of Muggles. But being called _weird_? Now, that’s just _new_.

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asks, shaking her head, “Why are you calling me a weirdo?”

“I’m not surprised that you’ve still kept your Muggle ways to you.” Malfoy picks up the vial again, looking closely at the pills. “But to actually _depend_ on Muggle medicine is such an archaic way of, you know, preserving who you are.” There’s something unspoken in between the lines. Hermione is sure she can hear his thoughts just verbally abusing her for the Muggle version of a Sleeping Draught.

“They’re just pills--”

“ _Muggle_ pills,” he clarifies.

Malfoy stands up and places the vial on the space in front of her. He wears an unreadable expression on his face. Hermione finds herself unable to explain why she actually has sleeping pills in the first place. It’s a habit she gained ever since the war started and seeing as her parents couldn’t actually help her out, they decided to get her some pills to stop the nightmares from visiting. Because of that, she’s always kept one in her bag.

“I thought you were actually holding something blackmail-worthy in your hand,” he explains, disappointed, “but it’s just some Muggle crap.”

Hermione is so confused that she’s not even able to outwardly express the offense she feels right now. Malfoy glances at the cauldron.

“I’m going now,” he states blankly, reaching for his bag. It is almost as if their earlier conversation didn’t happen. Hermione is certain that he was warming up to her, but once he was reminded of her Muggle heritage, he withdrew.

“Malfoy,” she starts to say, turning around as he heads for the door, “What about our Potions--”

“Granger.” He tilts his head back and gives her a look. Their eyes lock but this time, Hermione can feel the spite and disgust radiating from him. Quite so different from earlier when they were talking abut Dumbledore. Guess he hasn’t changed. Not really.

“You’re supposed to be the smartest witch in our age,” he tells her mockingly, his hand on the door, “You can finish a Sleeping Draught with your eyes closed.”

With those parting words, he leaves, and Hermione is left feeling confused and puzzled. What was supposed to be an afternoon full of her asking him questions and making him go crazy, the tables have now turned on her. She was supposed to talk to him about Scorpius, but the topic of his son slipped from her mind when their initial conversations started. She looks back at their cauldron and her shoulders drop when she realizes that it’s nearly finished. It’s clearly perfect. Who knew she and Malfoy could create something so perfect together?

She finishes the draught anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey. Hey. What did you think?? I'm so sorry that it was so short, but I reckoned that you guys would want an update NOW instead of a longer one later so that's why I just quickly finished off their little conversation. What I LOVE about Draco and Hermione is the banter between them lmao. It's always fun to see and write about how they'd react to each other and I hope I brought them justice! Anyway, once again, please share your thoughts in the comments below to give me more ideas on what to write and more motivation to keep writing and I will see you guys next sunday, hopefully! *fingers crossed* 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	12. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Hey! I'm so sorry for posting so late but I have something to get off my chest and it's SUPERCORP IS AMAZING AND I DEMAND THAT YOU ALL SHIP IT BEFORE YOU READ ON AHEAD. Lmao, I'm kidding. Anyway, it's been nearly a month. Don't worry, I don't plan on leaving this fic as unfinished *ignores the screaming Clexa fandom demanding for the 3rd part of my Love Rosie AU fic* because I've already set out the major plot points. Anyway, I'm working on my thesis now and my play finished last week so EVERYTHING IS SLIGHTLY LIGHTER ON MY PART NOW, which is amazing, because I really wanted to write for a long time now. Please, do read on ahead and don't forget to leave a comment below!!! It helps to keep my motivation going!!!

 

> _“God knows we’re all drawn toward what’s beautiful and broken; I have been, but some people cannot be fixed. Or if they can be, it’s only by love and sacrifice so great it destroys the giver.”_  
>  ― Cassandra Clare, City of Lost Souls

 

* * *

 

Scorpius has never touched a broom before in his entire life. But when he overhears Draco and Blaise talking about flying out for a few hours, he can’t help but ask to go along with them. Of course, Draco is adamant that the kid shouldn’t go along, but after pestering from both his son and his friend, Draco has to relent, a little bit grumpily if Scorpius has to say. 

They head over to the Quidditch pitch one Saturday afternoon. Scorpius brings along his _Hogwarts: A History_ book, a fact which Draco constantly teases about, “What are you going to do there, huh? _Read_ about us playing?” Scorpius ignores his childish father. He doesn’t feel comfortable leaving this valuable book behind in the Common Room. What if somebody mistakes it for their own? He wouldn’t be able to stand the agony if it ever came to that.

The Quidditch pitch is a large oval-shaped arena with low bleachers close to the ground and towering stands decorated with the four houses of the school. When the three Slytherins first arrived, Scorpius noted the vast size of it but once he’s inside does he realize what a tiring sport Quidditch must truly be. Within the circumference of the arena, Scorpius cannot possibly imagine hours and hours of training students must endure in order to be able to win a game. He raises his head and looks around. There are three tall goal posts on opposite sides of  the pitch. A soundbox meant for the commenter sits just between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff stands. He recalls all the times he’s watched Ginny Weasley on the telly and wonders what it’s like to be her.

“You’ve never ridden a broom before, Scorpius?” Blaise asks, disregarding his robes. He carried his Nimbus 2002 on the way here but borrowed a Cleansweep Eleven for the kid. The two brooms in question lie on the ground, waiting to be picked up.

“Father wouldn’t allow me,” Scorpius answers.

“Well, isn’t Draco a little killjoy,” Blaise remarks, shooting his friend a grin.

Scorpius sees Draco roll his eyes. He too has the latest brand of the Nimbus. “He probably had good reason,” says the Slytherin, loosening his tie. “Anyway, are we going to keep bickering like a bunch of school girls or are we going to fly?”

A wave of apprehension rolls over Scorpius. He’s always been a sheltered child, sticking to the Manor and always depending on his father, grandmother and Uncle Blaise for company. He never needed anything else except for his books and Father. Besides, Quidditch seemed far too dangerous for his liking. He’s always felt better when his feet were firm on the ground and not flying on top of a broom. But he asked to be here and who better to teach him how to ride a broom than his own father?

Draco waves Scorpius over as Blaise walks off to find a Golden snitch for a practice run.

“I seriously never taught you how to ride a broom?”  he questions, quirking an eyebrow as he continues to inspect his Nimbus 2002 on the ground.

Scorpius shrugs. “Father’s always busy,” he explains shortly.

“But it’s Quidditch.” Something in Draco’s expression shifts. “I’ve always played Quidditch. Until sixth year, that is. Haven’t touched a Snitch for a while now.”

“What happened in sixth year?”

Draco doesn’t answer. He pointedly looks away and gestures at his Nimbus 2002 and Scorpius’ Cleansweeper Eleven. Disappointed, Scorpius chastises himself for expecting Draco to actually answer his question, knowing how stubborn and secretive his young father is. “When you first ride a broom, you have to make sure that you’re up for the task,” Draco starts to explain, “There’s a handy trick our professor taught us in first year. You gotta stand like this--” He straightens up and holds his hand over the broom, glancing at Scorpius to make sure that the kid is listening, “--and when you’re ready, you say _up_!”

At the mention of the last word, the broom immediately shoots up into Draco’s open hand. Scorpius lets out a small gasp. He wants to try that!

Looking smug, Draco nods at him. “Now you go try.”

Scorpius positions himself directly above his own broom as Draco steps aside to watch it happen. Already, Scorpius can feel the magic radiating off his fingertips as he raises his hand. He glances at Draco, who is watching him with a small smile on his face. It is probably the most relaxed he’s ever seen him and it spurs Scorpius on. He has forgotten what it’s like to have his own father smile at him. The sight of it calms him down and without another second to waste, he yells “up!”

The broom doesn’t move.

Confused, Scorpius tries again, “Up!”

The broom remains on the ground. Scorpius lets out a frustrated sigh and turns to look at his father, who is wearing an expression of perturbed shock.

“Am I doing something wrong?” the child asks.

“Well, that means you’re a shit rider, kid,” Draco answers, shrugging, “You’re just not meant for it.”

“Just because the broom won’t move?”

“Try again.”

Running his small hands through his blonde hair, Scorpius resumes his position. He clears his throat and repeats, “Up!” but the broom simply rolls an inch to the left. Once again, Scorpius glances over at his young father, almost as if he holds all the answers in the world. But Draco simply shrugs and lowers his own broom so that he can actually ride on it.

“Just pick it up then if it won’t move,” he says flippantly, giving Scorpius a slight smirk, “Whoever your mother is, she must’ve been a very bad rider. You definitely did not get them from my side of the family.”

Something in Scorpius’ chest jumps into his throat. “Do you know her?” he asks, watching with envy as Draco easily flies off into the air, his body bent forward on the broom. He’s spent all this time reading his mother’s book to look for clues about the mysterious identity of the woman who birthed him without even bothering to ask his own father, who has evidently warmed up to him after the events of the past few days. Sure, Draco might not be as nice nor warm as his real Father back in the future, but he is considerably tolerable now.

“What, your mother?” Draco shakes his head. “I don’t have a clue.”

Scorpius watches his father fly higher and higher into the sky before returning to the ground in a vertical line, only managing to stop his fall by pulling onto the broom to regain his earlier position. Even though Scorpius can clearly compare how Ginny Weasley would’ve done the same thing differently, he has to admit that his father has a flair for Quidditch, and he knows it, judging by the grin written all over his features.

It’s jarring, seeing Draco smile openly like that.

“Aren’t you curious?” Scorpius has to yell in order to be heard over the wind.

“I think your mother is the least of my worries, kid,” Draco responds, hovering just above him, “I’ve got you to worry about.”

“I’m not _that_ difficult,” Scorpius mumbles.

“You spend all day with your nose stuck in a book, constantly ask questions that I don’t even know how to bloody answer, and don’t mind your own business by consistently running amuck the castle without a chaperon--” A look of understanding suddenly dawns on Draco’s face, a look that Scorpius doesn’t miss, but it vanishes as quickly as it came. The blonde Slytherin lets out a frustrated sigh and says, “Sounds difficult to me.”

“I just have a lot of questions!” Scorpius mutters, trying to defend himself, “I wouldn’t be half as difficult if you answered some of them.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, kid, that some things are better left unanswered?” Draco retorts, quirking an eyebrow defiantly at his future son, “If your dad kept things from you, it’s probably for a reason. Now, are you going to ride or not?”

“Has _your_ father kept things from you?” Scorpius grumbles.

Draco’s face contorts, almost as if he’s been kicked in the shin. He lowers the broom so that he and Scorpius are eye-to-eye. “Kid,” he says lowly, “Let me give you a tip: never mention my father again.”

Either Scorpius is dumb or brave, Draco doesn’t know. But the kid raises his chin defiantly and states, “Parents aren’t supposed to hide things from their kids.”

“Are _you_ a parent? Merlin, you’re only eight!”

“I’m old enough to know what I _should_ know,” Scorpius defensively argues, letting out another frustrated sigh, “and I barely know anything about you, Draco.”

Something within Draco’s cold eyes shift uneasily. He drops down from his broom and glances around the pitch, probably wondering why on earth Blaise is taking forever to find the Golden Snitch. Scorpius immediately prepares himself for a confrontation. Draco looks exactly like Father when he’s about to scold him for staying up too late or for not eating his vegetables. And even though Scorpius hates being reprimanded or told off, he stands his ground and waits for some harsh words to spill out of Draco’s mouth.

But they don’t come.

“My father,” the young Slytherin begins to say, his jaw clenching, “did the best he could for me, at the time. You know nothing about my father, kid, but if he’s anything like yours, then you should prepare yourself for some disappointment.”

Draco turns his back on him when he hears Blaise approaching from behind. Scorpius, feeling his heart rattling loudly inside his chest like a bird stuck in a cage, steps forward determinedly and with his voice shaking, he tells his father, “You don’t have to be.” He doesn’t miss the way Draco’s shoulders instinctively tighten or the way his hands immediately rolls into fists. Over Draco’s shoulder, Scorpius can see Blaise’s mouth curling into a proud grin.

“What?” Draco asks, turning around and shooting his son a glare.

“You don’t have to be a disappointment,” Scorpius stubbornly replies, keeping his voice firm and watching as Draco’s face slightly slackens, “Father always reads my bedtime stories before I go to bed, he makes me breakfast using his hands and not his wand, and he always checks up on me when he’s away on business trips--”

“That’s not me, kid,” Draco interjects, his face hardening.

“Not _now_ , maybe,” Scorpius argues, feeling the moisture in his eyes when he realizes just how badly he misses his Father, “but you will be. You’re my father, Draco, and you have never once disappointed me.”

The words hang heavy in the air. Blaise has kept his distance but there’s no doubt that he didn’t hear the whole thing. Draco is still, his eyes on Scorpius, as he wears an unreadable expression on his features. They don’t speak for an entire minute and they spend the entire sixty seconds just staring each other down. Scorpius has no idea what’s going through Draco’s head but unknown to him, his young father is actually thinking about those cursed brown eyes of his, and who they came from…

Draco shakes his head, breaking the silence first, “I swear to God, you continue to annoy me each passing day.”

The breathy laugh that erupts out of Scorpius’ mouth gives Blaise the signal to finally step closer. When he slides up next to Draco, they quickly share a look that passes Scorpius’ notice. In Blaise’s right hand, he holds the Golden Snitch and he tilts his head over towards his friend’s son and says, “Do you know what this is, Scorp?”

“A Snitch,” Scorpius deadpans.

“Yeah, but do you know what we’re going to do with it?” With the last word, Blaise releases the Snitch into the air and Scorpius raises his head to watch it flutter away into the skies. “The first one to catch it is the winner. _You_ get to punish the loser.”

Scorpius eyes Draco. “The loser has to answer my questions,” he instructs, “All of them.”

“Fat chance, kid. You probably have fifty of them.”

“Ten, then.”

“How about one only and I give you ice cream?”

“You can’t bribe me, Draco. Five questions.”

Blaise starts laughing. “Idiots,” he mutters.

Rolling his eyes, Draco shakes his head at Scorpius who mirrors the move and stubbornly crosses his own arms. The two Malfoys commence in another staring contest but Scorpius can already feel Draco lowering down. After a short pause, Draco grumbles, “One question and that’s all you’re getting.”

Scorpius cracks a grin, looking over at Blaise and giving him a thumbs-up. “Go get him, Uncle Blaise.”

//

Hermione’s on her way to send a letter to Harry and Ron when she spots two figures rising into the air near the Quidditch pitch. She’s on the rickety bridge leading to the Owlery, two letters clutched tightly in her hands as she minds her steps. She looks up at the sound of a few voices yelling and when she glances up, she sees what seems to be a pair of boys riding on broomsticks flying about the Quidditch arena. Rolling her eyes because she’s reminded of Harry and Ron, she’s about to turn away but then spots the silver-haired Malfoy on top of one of the broomsticks.

The last time she saw Malfoy playing Quidditch was in fifth year, before Voldemort came and snatched his innocence away, not that Malfoy has _always_ been innocent. Since she’s spent nearly half of her life watching Harry ride on his broom, she can tell that Malfoy almost matches him in skill, but perhaps he’s still getting used to the feel of a broom in his hands.

She glances down at the letters in her hand. The last time she heard from Harry and Ron was two weeks ago. They always sent letters checking in, but after seven days passed without another word, Hermione is starting to get worried. Hence, the furious scribbling inside her letters. She probably called the duo a pair of ‘blubbering idiots’ so many times it's engraved in her brain.

She sighs, turning towards the Owlery. Before she turns, she catches sight of another silver-haired boy in the bleachers of the Quidditch Pitch, waving his arms around and yelling at the flying pair. She doesn’t have to think twice to know that it’s Scorpius.

She comes to a decision. After sending the letters, she’ll drop by to talk to him. It _has_ been a long time since they last conversed and she’d be more than happy to check up on the little kid, seeing as the young Malfoy is a sight for sore eyes.

//

“You fucking cheated, didn’t you?” Draco growls at Blaise, who stands in front of him with the Snitch desperately trying to fly away from his grip, a wide smile written all over his face.

“Isn’t that something sore losers say?” Blaise taunts, the mirth filling his dark eyes tremendously. He glances over at the young Malfoy and throws him the Snitch, now closed. “Your move, Scorp.”

Draco watches as the kid struggles to even catch it at a small distance away. With his wide eyes and open mouth, it is obvious he knows that he’s been given a never before chance to have his most burning question answered once and for all. Draco isn’t entirely comfortable with the fact, realizing that everything he’s struggled to keep away from the kid will finally be broken free. He shouldn’t have agreed to the stupid one question rule. The kid is, unfortunately, very sharp. He doesn’t know where he got it from. But he does know that the question that will pop out of the kid’s mouth is a tough one.

He mentally braces himself, the scowl on his face deepening as his future son stares at him with large doe-like eyes. _Wait_ , he asks himself suddenly and the scowl morphs into a thoughtful frown as he tilts his head to the side, _where has he seen eyes like that before_?

“I--” the kid starts to say but stops abruptly, his gaze shifting to something over Draco’s shoulder.

Draco turns to follow his gaze and pauses when he sees Granger approaching them, hair wild as ever, with that blasted Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck. She walks towards them like she means business, like she’s the Head Girl off to reprimand a couple of bad students (which she is), like she’s about to whip her fist and punch him on the nose all over again and Draco’s lip unconsciously twitch into an _almost_ smile. Ah. It’s not one of his proudest moments, being punched by Hermione Granger, but it was a different time. Easier, even.

“Granger,” he greets, trying to place the frown back in his face. The last time they saw each other, Granger revealed that she was indulging in Muggle pills. Draco can’t help but scoff at the idea. How _savage_. But still … she forced him to relive a bunch of painful memories he’d rather forget about, tainted memories of the Dark Lord that makes him flinch every now and then.

“Malfoy,” Granger says in return, her harsh gaze piercing his. She seems _indifferent._

Blaise coughs. “Zabini.” When nobody acknowledges his side comment, he rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“What the hell do you want here?” Draco grumbles, moving towards his future son and grabbing the Golden Snitch out of his hand. The kid sticks his tongue out at him. “Last I remember, you were the shitty Quidditch player in first year.”

“Didn’t notice that you were paying attention, Malfoy,” Granger haughtily responds.

 _I didn’t fucking mean it like that_ , Draco thinks to himself and the scowl on his face deepens.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he spits out, throwing the Snitch at Blaise who catches it expertly.

“I don’t have to.“

Granger walks past him to crouch in front of Scorpius, whose face immediately brightens up at the sight of her. Draco watches them closely, not entirely sure how to react to them both but knowing that he doesn’t like it one bit. He doesn’t know what his place is in their little friendship. Can he still be considered the fucking asshole Death Eater classmate Granger has endured for the past decade? Or does the kid look at him and see his father underneath all the teenage snark and attitude? But what is he to the both of them? What is their shared history?

Most of all, why are they looking at him the exact same fucking way?

“Has your father been a pain in the behind, Scorpius?” Hermione asks the kid, smiling sweetly.

“He thinks that I’m a shit rider,” the kid says, completely unaware of the swear word he just uttered.

Granger whips around so fast Draco doesn’t have time to block the slap that comes straight for his arm. He jumps back in surprise, not in actual pain, even though Granger’s furious glare is throwing daggers straight into his soul. A scowl finds its way back into his mouth again as Granger continues to pound him with heavy slaps and spitting words, “ _You moron_ ! You’re not supposed to tell kids that they’re _bad_ at flying! What if--what if Scorpius wanted to be some kind of world-renowned Quidditch player, huh? If--if he doesn’t get some support from his own _father_ , what can he expect about the--?”

Draco manages to grab hold of Granger’s wrist and she writhes in his grasp. “Seriously,” he says, flabbergasted, “You’d rather slap me repeatedly on the arm because I called him a shitty rider?”

“What else would I slap you for?” the Gryffindor sneers.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco drawls, rolling his eyes, “Our last encounter, perhaps?”

Amidst their tiny argument, both the kid and Blaise have floated to stand next to each other. But Draco and Granger don’t notice, still locked in a fucking staring contest, willing the other to finally back down. He doesn’t let go of her wrist and Granger doesn’t take a step back, which has always been an annoying trait ever since they were kids but now it’s seriously starting to piss him off.

“The draught was already perfect by the time you so graciously walked out, Malfoy,” Granger tells him scathingly, “And yes, I can clearly make one with my eyes closed. Consider your exit unbothered and unnoticed.”

The response surprises Draco so much that when Granger pulls her hand away, she is met with little resistance. The Gryffindor lets out a small huff, her shoulders tense, before setting her albeit friendly gaze back to his son.

“Don’t listen to him, Scorpius,” Granger tells him, touching the kid’s cheek softly, “You can be the greatest rider in the world if you wanted to.”

The kid’s face brightens. “Don’t worry,” he says, grinning, “I don’t think I’m up for Quidditch.”

“Oh.” Granger’s face shifts. Draco wonders what she’s thinking about. “Well, that’s strange to hear.”

“Why would it be?”

“Well.” Granger glances at Draco over her shoulder, who shrugs. “It’s just… I’ve always known your father to be a very avid player of Quidditch.”

The kid snorts. “Well, if he was, then he wouldn’t have lost to Uncle Blaise.”

Draco’s mouth drops open in mock outrage and Blaise lets out a deafening roar of laughter that even makes Granger smile slightly. The kid lets out a soft giggle, telling Granger about the small contest they just had and explaining that he gets to ask his father a single question and  Draco has to answer truthfully.

“Well, aren’t you a smart little boy,” Granger gushes and Draco resists the urge to roll his eyes.

“You call it smart, I call it mischievous,” he says under his breath.

“I wonder where he got it from,” Blaise mumbles knowingly, sharing a look with the kid, who grows red in the face as he yells,

“Hey, you swore!”

“I didn’t say anything about not answering, you idiot,” the older Malfoy snaps, jumping forward to ruffle the kid’s blonde hair. Granger scolds him, but he simply sticks his tongue out at her and moves to Blaise’s side, “And I also didn’t say anything about answering _now._ Maybe ten years into the future, if you’re still stuck here.”

The kid’s brown eyes widen comically. He opens his mouth to call out foul, to tell him that they had a _promise_ , to whine and yell and throw a tantrum, and Draco wants nothing more than to point out he better get used to disappointment in the future. But it would be cruel. The older Slytherin smirks, but it quickly fades away when Granger lets out another long drawn sigh and pats the eight year old on his shoulders, drawing his attention away from his lying father.

“Don’t mind him, Scorpius,” Granger tells him, “I’ll make sure that you get a good answer out of the ferret.”

“ _Ferret_ ?” the kid questions, furrowing his eyebrows. It’s the kind of look that seems oddly _familiar._

“Long story. Perhaps you’d like to hear more about it on a trip to Hogsmeade?”

Draco startles. “Hogsmeade?” he demands, “Who said anything about going to Hogsmeade?”

“It’s nearing the holidays, Malfoy,” Granger points out, throwing him a look of thinly-veiled disgust,  “Wouldn’t you like to spend some time with your son outside of this castle?”

Draco scoffs but Blaise elbows him hard against the ribs. “Come on, dude. The kid’s got a sheltered life.”

“Not my fault,” Draco grumbles.

“You’re his father, you idiot.” Blaise tilts his head to the side. “It’s kind of your fault.”

Another well-drawn out sigh. Draco rubs the bridge of his nose. Truthfully, he’s had half the mind to go to Hogsmeade to get away from the stifling tightness of the castle, maybe get a few Butterbeers. Still, he didn’t expect for Granger to actually want to bring his son along. He doesn’t like the idea of actually hanging out with annoying Granger and the insufferable future kid with the brown doe eyes and all the nagging that he fully expects. From _both_ of them.

Wait—brown doe-like eyes—?

He shakes the thought away, refuses to entertain it.

“Why should I let you spend time with him?” Draco demands, glaring at Granger, “Do I want to have you brainwash him into thinking that all you Gryffindors are a bunch of goody two shoes and my lot are just a bunch of Death Eaters in the making?”

The kid looks over at Granger, whose jaw tightens.

“What are Death Eaters?” he asks.

“Your son is too precious and innocent to hear such vile things from his own father,” the bookworm spits at him, avoiding the heavy question the kid has posed.

Draco’s nostrils flare as he steps closer to Granger, who is still crouched in front of the kid. “Don’t pull that on me,” he says, reaching forward and taking the young Malfoy’s robes into his hand. He pulls him to his side, glancing at Blaise to get him to step towards them, who does so begrudgingly, “Why are you so obsessed with this kid anyway? He’s my son, not yours.”

Granger stands, whipping her hair over her shoulder angrily. Her brown eyes are narrowed but shifty. Her lips are shaped into a frown that grows confused with each second that passes. And oh, Malfoy has seen her angry and pissed off. The memory of her punching him resurfaces, sending a wave of shame to wash over him. But the look she’s giving him now is different—he can almost sense the nagging feeling that Granger’s anger is misplaced. Like she’s not entirely sure what she should be angry about. Maybe, she doesn’t know the answer to the question he’s asked.

“I—I—” she begins to say, crossing her arms stubbornly, “That's for me to know and for you to find out, which you _never_ will."

“How mature of you.” Draco tugs his son away, wanting nothing more than to leave the presence of the annoying Gryffindor. Blaise lets out an audible sigh, as if he expected something to happen only to be severely disappointed. The kid raises his head and looks over his shoulder to give Granger one final wave, despite the fact that Draco still has a hold of his robes. They start walking away awkwardly, with Draco’s head held sigh so that he doesn’t have to look back and catch what he assumes to be another scowl from the Muggleborn.

But then—

“He’s not like you, Malfoy,” Granger suddenly says out loud, her voice soft, “He’s still a kid.”

Draco falters but keeps going. Yes, he knows that the child is innocent. His hands are clean, pure and untainted. Unlike Draco’s. But he doesn’t need Granger to know that: to know how awkward he feels trying to fit into the image of the father the kid loves and adores above anything else.

He’s not stupid enough not to realize just how much of a shitty dad he really is. Just like his own father was to him.

Maybe life really _is_ a circle.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think??? Damn, I really want to get to the good parts already but I fucking hate stories without any character development or any buildup to the relationship which is why I'm really taking my time here. Please please comment your thoughts on this, especially regarding how I write my characters. It constantly helps with my writing and I would love to interact with you more lmao. Just because I don't reply doesn't mean that I don't take your comments into consideration. Please comment or leave a kudo lmao. I'll look forward to your messages!! 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	13. Trip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT I REALIZED THAT I'VE BEEN SPELLING 'SLICKED' AS 'SLEEKED' PLS IGNORE ALL OF MY PREVIOUS CHAPTERS IF YOU'VE EVER COME ACROSS THAT WORD. My entire life is a lie. Idk what's happened. I'm supposed to be doing my thesis but instead, I'm uploading this little chapter for yall because I really liked your comments. Some of you are starting to get into the storyline, which I really adore lmao. Please, please, please stick with this story. Bookmark it. I post randomly at times. I'll try to be more consistent lol. Anyway, see you at the end chapter notes haha.

 

> _“Love can change a person the way a parent can change a baby- awkwardly, and often with a great deal of mess.”_  
>  ― Lemony Snicket, Horseradish 

* * *

 

On the next weekend, Hermione, despite the chilly and hostile attitude Malfoy has presented towards her for the past few days, decides to drop by the Slytherin Common Room to hopefully catch sight of Scorpius. Of course, she knows that this is a bad idea, especially since the young father hasn’t technically given them the blessing to roam around Hogsmeade. But--there’s something about Scorpius that piques Hermione’s interest, that makes her want to see more and more of him, regardless of Malfoy’s annoying presence always following them around.

She starts to wonder if Harry and Ron’s presence has affected her ability to realize that this is a _Malfoy_ that she’s currently starting to like. Perhaps the boys’ absence has made her long for somebody else to have maternal instincts over. She did feel like she was the boys’ second mother throughout their entire time in college. Or maybe she’s just missing them really bad. As boyish and loud and pesky they were, they _are her_ best friends.

And she still hasn’t gotten a letter in the mail.  

Could they be--? No, Shacklebot would inform her if anything happened to her two best friends.

(Even if she _did_ decline his offer to help round out the other Death Eaters.)

She’s in the middle of contemplating whether or not to send a letter to Molly Weasley when lo and behold, Malfoy rounds the corner and nearly slams straight into her. They would’ve dropped to the ground had it not been for Malfoy catching his grip on the pillar behind her and Hermione grabbing hold of his tie to steady herself.

Half a second passes. Hermione’s eyes find their way straight into Malfoy’s, who immediately looks away. His face sours like he’s eaten a lemon.

“Fuck, what are _you_ doing here?” he grumbles, backing away quickly and dusting off non-existent lint from his robes. He fixes his tie, glaring at her. Or the wall behind her, she supposes.

Hermione clears her throat in an effort to look unfazed, even though their close proximity has left her feeling a bit winded. Thankfully, since its an early Saturday morning, there aren’t any students around, nobody to see their strange encounter. If it had happened back in third year, Malfoy would’ve been screaming murder.

Instead, he’s still glaring at her.

“I’m here for Scorpius,” Hermione tells him, crossing her arms haughtily, “I promised him a trip to Hogsmeade, remember?”

“I remember not agreeing to _any_ of that,” Malfoy points out, “I’m not letting him out of my sights.”

“You could always come, Malfoy.”

“I think I’ve reached my limits when it comes to you sticking your nose everywhere, Granger.”

The Gryffindor sighs. She expected Malfoy to react like this. But still, regardless of Scorpius’ name and parenthood, Hermione isn’t going to back down from finding as much as she can about the boy, even if her motivations are a little blurred. On one hand, she cares about his well being and would do anything to keep the child happy but on the other hand, she can’t help but feel like she’s a scientist trying to find a single slip-up in the Malfoy who seems so _different_ from the Malfoy she knows and despises. Almost like he’s a hypothesis she’s trying to debunk out of sheer curiosity.

“I’ve already asked for McGonagall’s permission,” Hermione states, “I can’t bring him along if _you_ , the only parent he has, isn’t there to come with.”

Malfoy quirks an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me, Granger?” he asks.

There’s not a lot that she can offer, so Hermione sighs and reaches for the only reason that she thinks will sway some of Malfoy’s fatherly instincts, if he has any.

“You get to be a good father?”

The blonde Slytherin only guffaws. With him shaking his head and his hands curled into fists inside his pants, he looks every bit as mocking as he used to be back when they were younger. But Hermione senses something else underneath the humor she finds in his eyes. It’s the way his jaw tenses as the words sink in. Like she hit a nerve or something.

“Of all the people in this castle,” he says, rolling his eyes, “I would’ve expected you to think that I would never amount to a good parent.” 

Hermione can hear the self-pity in his own words, laced with spite. She finds herself stepping closer, surprised to see him stay firm in his spot. “Well,” she starts, “You and I have both seen Scorpius now. He seems to have turned out fine.”

This conversation seems to be bugging Malfoy, because he avoids her gaze and runs a hand through his silver hair. He looks … nervous, even. Which is strange. The only time Hermione has seen Malfoy nervous is when he was asked to identify Harry at the Manor. It was a kind of nervous teetering on fear. But the nervous energy fades away to turn into anger once more, and Malfoy whips around to leer at her,

“Seriously, why are you so fucking obsessed with the kid?”

Hermione wraps her arms around herself. “I like him,” she says simply, “He’s sweet, kind and smart. All the qualities I never expected a Malfoy to have.”

A sigh. “I hate to agree with you on that one.” Malfoy looks perplexed, his face pinched with a dozen, wordless questions as if he’s struggling to understand _how_ he has a son who is so far-fetched from everything he stands for. Hermione can’t see it too. She can’t see how Scorpius can be related to such an asshole. If she’s having trouble believing it, she can’t imagine the turmoil Malfoy must be going through.

Hermione hasn’t thought of having kids before. It was kind of hard to when they were in the middle of a war. Besides, she’s only eighteen. And yet—Malfoy seems to be taking it into stride. Sure, he seems to despise Scorpius most of the time, but Granger can see, under all the spite and snark, that Malfoy really does care about his son. She tries to imagine what it would be like if her future daughter suddenly popped out of nowhere, telling her things she’d have trouble believing. As far as she’s concerned, the blonde is doing a good job of not having an existential crisis.

“Will you let me see him?” Granger asks after the silence stretches on.

Malfoy lets out an impatient sigh. “Whatever,” he mutters, turning around to head back into the Common Room, “I’m going to get changed. Don’t think, even for a second, that I won’t be around to watch you and him.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it, Malfoy.”

Hermione decides to sit on a small niche in the wall of the corridor with a book propped open in her hands. It’s one of Arthur Conan Doyle’s many Sherlock Holmes novels that she has beneath her fingertips and she drinks in the words as she waits for the two Malfoys to resurface. Of course, some would say that she’s wasting her time reading about Muggle books when there’s literally a whole magical world brimming in front of her very eyes. But what Sherlock Holmes embodies is wit and knowledge, a trait that is both revered in the Muggle and Wizarding world. She’s in the middle of rereading one of her favorites: _The Hounds of Baskerville_ when she catches sight of blonde hair and brown eyes appearing right in front of her.  

“Hey, Hermione!” Scorpius says, grinning brightly at her.

Hermione closes her book, returning his grin. “Hello, Scorpius,” she whispers, glancing behind him to see Malfoy staring at them with an unreadable expression all over his features. “I haven’t seen you for a while. How have you been?”

It’s always strange, looking at Scorpius like this; like he isn’t the offspring of one of her biggest enemies. Hermione’s brain has been wired with so much of Draco Malfoy that she finds it difficult to separate him and his son. At the first glance of Scorpius, she sees the bully who tortured and antagonised her back in their younger years, but she’s starting to learn how to rewire and how to distinguish the son from the father, how to change her perception of a boy who definitely doesn’t deserve anything less than friendship. Where Draco’s hair has always been slicked back, Scorpius’ has some sort of bounce and waviness to it, like tendrils of it are just aching to move with the wind. Where Draco’s grey eyes filled with hatred and anger at the sight of her, Scorpius’ brown orbs hold nothing but fascination and adoration. Where Draco sharp features remind her strongly of his own father, the roundness of Scorpius’ cheeks and the smile he always wears on his face reminds her that people are not their parents.

“I’ve been okay,” Scorpius responds, dragging the last syllable out, “Draco told me that he wouldn’t let me go to Hogsmeade, but you must’ve changed his mind, right?

Hermione glances pointedly at Malfoy, who shrugs. “I didn’t realize it would work,” she tells his son, redirecting another smile into his direction. “Come on, you haven’t been to Hogsmeade before, right?”

“I haven’t really been anywhere.”

She tries to ignore the way her heart clenches at the thought.

//

Somehow, along the way of travelling from store to store in Hogsmeade, they come across Ginny Weasley with Luna Lovegood in tow. Hermione, bringing along her savings for the past few years, bought Scorpius a few things he excitedly pointed at. Most of them were books. She could practically hear Malfoy cursing her in his head as he bought his son a new sleek black coat for the upcoming winter, looking smugly at her when she rolled her eyes. The color, while it accuantes the child’s sharp features, doesn’t seem to fit him. But she’s not going to tell his father _that_.

It must be a strange sight for others to see--the three of them hanging out, her and Scorpius talking animatedly about the things they have in common, with Malfoy brooding behind them. Hermione catches sight of Michael Corner and Hannah Abbott whispering furiously behind their hands when they pass by Zonko’s Joke Shop, where she also spots her two girl friends coming out and holding some shopping bags. Nothing actively prepares her for the way Ginny’s face lights up at the sight of Scorpius wearing his new black coat or the way Luna immediately reaches forward to touch his face, apparently curious without the care for personal space.

“Well, if it isn’t my number one fan,” Ginny coos.

“You really do look a lot like Draco,” Luna absently points out.

Scorpius glances at Malfoy, who scowls. “Hello, Girl Weasley and Loony.” He puts a protective stance in front of his son and Hermione finds herself doing the same, but only to keep Malfoy from doing something stupid in front of Ginny and Luna.

For their credit, the two girls don’t attack Scorpius they way they normally would with his father. Instead, Ginny rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Come on, Malfoy,” she says, cracking a good-hearted grin even though her hand reaches for her back pocket, “I’ve already met your kid at the library. He seems to be a big fan of me.”

Scorpius sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “You can’t tell them,”he mumbles, “It’s supposed to be a secret.”

Ginny just laughs. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Hermione watches as Luna reaches forward and plucks a single hair out of Scorpius’ scalp. The child yelps and Malfoy immediately gears forward, his wand out before any of them suspects anything, but Luna just waves him off and puts the hair into her back pocket. There’s still a serene smile written all over her features. “It’s considered good luck,” she tells them earnestly, “to have something where it normally shouldn’t be.”

Malfoy looks too stunned to be able to say anything, while Scorpius rubs his head.

“You’ll get used to her,” Hermione says to the boy without thinking. “Uhm--if you’re still here long enough, you know.”

“Uh huh.” Scorpius still looks a bit wary about Luna, who pays him no mind.

Malfoy seems to have recovered from the whole ordeal because he unwillingly pockets his wand and sizes the two girls with a quiet glare. Ginny mirrors the look but it’s softer compared to their past encounters. Perhaps the sight of a child has that sort of effect on past enemies. Hermione thinks back to all the times they’ve come across Malfoy bullying and taunting them in their younger years. Of course, it’s not always Harry and Ron that he targets, but the few people who are close to them share the butt of it as well. Glancing at her Ravenclaw friend, she has to quietly wonder to herself how Luna looks at Malfoy now, considering that she was held captive at the Manor for a long period of time, with the Slytherin barely lifting a finger to help her.

But Luna -- good and forgiving Luna -- gives Malfoy a small smile.

“Hello, Draco,” she says pleasantly enough, “I do hope that you’re feeling well. The dark cloud looming above your head doesn’t do well for your complexion.”

The look on Malfoy’s face is enough to make Hermione laugh.

“I believe he always has a dark cloud looming above his head,” Ginny joins in, watching him with a hint of amusement, “As for complexion--well, he certainly does look a bit like a unicorn who just escaped from the Forbidden Forest. Minus the horn, of course.”

Scorpius snorts. Hermione finds herself unable to fathom how on earth her two friends are stuck in a conversation with one of her ex-enemies and his future son in the middle of Hogsmeade without any wands being whipped out or any hexes thrown into the air. She finds it an achievement, even, knowing that if it had been Harry and Ron, the outcome would be less than peaceful. Thank Merlin for girls.

“How charming,” Malfoy drawls, dragging Hermione’s attention back to him. He doesn’t say anything else, even though Hermione’s certain that he has a couple of witty comebacks right beneath his sleeve. Perhaps he’s trained himself not to go off on her friends, especially with the outcome of the war still hanging above their heads.

Ginny and Luna head off elsewhere after that, but not before shooting Hermione a look that clearly said _we WILL be talking about this later_. Finding herself alone with Malfoy and his kid once more, Hermione takes a deep breath, aware of the onslaught of questions she’ll be bombarded with later, before taking Scorpius’ hand in her own and whisking the two Malfoys away towards another bookstore, preferably without any of their friends hanging about.

//

Draco doesn’t think his opinion of Granger could change. But seeing her with his son, even though both of them are nerding out about stupid useless books that he would never bother buying, much less reading, seems to have a slight effect on him. Don’t get him wrong--she will _always_ be the Muggleborn know-it-all who just happened to be one of Boy Wonder’s best friends, the one who punched him in the face in third year and topped all of their stupid exams. Even until now.

And yet… despite their past, their messy history and all the hatred still bubbling beneath the surface, Draco finds himself relaxing a bit. He can see that Granger doesn’t have an ulterior motive with the kid. Even though he’s literally just hanging behind them, not even listening to their conversations, Granger hasn’t said anything ill of him. He can’t say the same to her. Merlin knows how many times he’s implied to the kid about their hateful circumstances.

Which reminds him…

The Gryffindor has now dragged the kid into a stationary store and Draco finds himself hanging outside, glancing inside every now and then to see the two of them still talking animatedly while going through quills. Merlin, they don’t seem to run out of conversation topics. How… Draco is about to say _annoying_ but instead, he thinks about how much of a coincidence it is that the two people in the world who shouldn’t have _anything_ in common are now blabbing inside a store with books, quills and ink to fill a library.

Draco isn’t stupid. But he has a very uneasy feeling that he’s reaching a conclusion that should be further backed with evidence instead of speculation. He sighs. Brilliant. Just because Granger is the only person he knows that’s as annoying as his future son doesn’t mean what it could possibly mean. He finds Luna Lovegood annoying. But the thought of that bimbo being Scorpius’ mother—

He shakes his head. _Stupid indeed._

Reminding himself about who he is and the weight of his family name weighing on his shoulders, Draco comes to a hasty decision: there is no way in hell he would ever— _ever—_ have a kid with Hermione Granger. Over his dead body. The thought makes his skin crawl. What would his father think? No, scratch that. What would _he_ be thinking to even try and get a move on Granger? If she wasn’t as persistent as she was smart, he’d never come near her, even with a ten-foot pole.

He looks back inside the store. Granger has bought the kid another notebook. He’s pretty sure he already has ten of those in his shopping bags. They exit after a minute and Draco walks up to meet them, already knowing the words that are going to come up from his mouth: _Granger, it’s been fun and all, but I seriously think you should stop stalking my son_ —

“Hey, Draco!” The kid says, glancing at him with a bright smile in his face, “Hermione told me how smart you are in Arithmancy. Is that true?”

Draco’s mind blanks. “What?” he asks, glancing at Granger who gives him a shy smile.

“Arithmancy. She told me you got one of the higher grades back in third year.”

He did. He was proud of it. It was the only time Granger hadn’t been on top of the class that year and he secretly held it over her head. But after the skirmish with Dumbledore and the war with The Dark Lord reaching a whole new high, he’d nearly forgotten about it.

“You remember that?” he finds himself directing the question to Granger, after having successfully ignored her for the entire trip to Hogsmeade."

Granger shrugs. “He wanted to know more about you.”

“And me being smart at Arithmancy is the only thing you can tell him?” Draco doesn’t know what to feel. He hasn’t realized that Granger has actually paid close attention to his studies. The thought is stubborn and alien, makes him want to slam his head against the nearest tree. But he refrains himself.

Before Granger can reply, she is interrupted. “I’ve actually read a few books about it,” the kid says excitedly, nearly bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.

Draco rolls his eyes. _Of course, you have_.

“We’ll talk nerd later, kid.”

“Hermione also told me the time you got turned into a ferret.”

The look that Granger gives him is light and mischievous, and Draco wants nothing more than to hex it out of her face. Being a ferret was never his proudest moment, and having it repeated to his future son (without needing a family planning, Draco knows he would’ve kept that secret a secret until the day he died) makes him wish he never agreed to this whole trip in the first place.

Sighing once more because arguing with Granger and being confused about her presence altogether is starting to give him a headache, he reaches for the kid’s shoulder and pulls him to his side. Granger moves forward, almost by instinct, before she steps back, looking slightly puzzled.

“Thank you for embarrassing me in front of my future offspring,” Draco tells her, “I hope you had a nice time getting your fill of obsessiveness over him. It’s actually pervy, now that I think about it.”

“Hermione’s not obsessed with me, Draco.”

Draco barely spares the kid a look, his eyes still on the Gryffindor, who holds his gaze with defiance. “Then she better stop following you around or else I’m going to have to put a restraining order.”

“But.” The kid tugs at his robes. Annoyed, Draco looks down at him and pauses when he sees those cursed brown eyes staring back up at him. “I like hanging out with Hermione. She doesn’t think I’m annoying.”

The meekness of those words and the small quiver of the kid’s bottom lip makes Draco curse the day he was ever born and wish that his stupid beating heart didn’t have to be so fucking _weak._ No wonder he couldn’t kill Dumbledore. No wonder he hasn’t been able to attempt a murder without feeling the need to fucking throw up. He can already feel himself deflating, softening around the edges for this stupid kid that he barely even knows but would fight anybody else if they ever tried to lift a finger to hurt him. Parenthood, he decides, is complicated that way. One day, you’re just minding your own business and fucking up your own life and then suddenly--your life is not yours entirely.

He thinks back to all the times the kid has stood up to him. The fact that he would’ve never been able to do the same thing with his own father settles uneasily at the pit of his stomach.

He hates the fact that Granger can see him like this, silenced by the sight of a child’s puppy dog eyes.

“You,” he tells his son, pointing at him threateningly, “stay here.” He shoots Granger a glare like this is her fault and spits at her to follow him into the corner of the store, where hopefully nobody can see them or eavesdrop on their little talk.

When he’s certain that the coast is clear, he rounds up on Granger, whose arms are crossed and who is currently giving him the stink-eye. Of course, it’s obvious that she’s scolding him inside her head for always being so harsh on the kid. But that’s not what’s on Draco’s mind. All he can think about is Scorpius. He remembers how his son reacted when he told him that he didn’t hate him, remembers the way his son had broken down, clearly seeking a father amidst a situation where he didn’t technically have one, remembers the way Draco held him in his arms for the first time and how it made him feel -- like there was something he could hold and not have it break.

“Scorpius just wants his father,” Granger tells him after a short pause.

“I’m not his father,” Draco mutters, “but you seem to be rubbing off on him. Don’t think for a second that I like--whatever it is that you’re doing. Fuck, I don’t even know what you’re really doing with him.”

Granger raises an eyebrow. “Did it ever occur to you, Malfoy,” she begins, tucking one errant hair behind her ear. Draco hates the fact that he gets distracted by the movement, “that perhaps, I’m only talking to Scorpius because I _want_ to? Not because of any ulterior motive, or Harry, or some brainwashing thing that you seem hellbent on.” She pauses, letting out a small sigh and wrapping her arms around herself.. “He’s a really good kid. I’m still trying to wrap my head around about how he could be your son.”

Draco clears his throat, trying not to let the comment sting. He fails. “Perhaps he got it from his mother,” he says without thinking.

Granger looks at him. “Do you know her?” she asks, curiosity coloring her tone.

Draco debates telling her the truth. He can totally bullshit his way through and spread a rumor that Astoria Greengrass (one of the hottest Slytherins he’s met) is allegedly Scorpius’ absent mother. That might actually get him a date or two, if his mind isn’t so wrapped up post-war. But, with the way Granger is looking at him with those soft brown eyes of hers, makes him cave. So, instead, he rolls one shoulder nonchalantly and answers, “No. He doesn’t have a clue either.”

“So, what are you going to do? Why did you even want to talk to me anyway?”

“Because.” Draco can’t come up with a good enough answer. He runs his fingers through his hair, letting it fall from its usual slicked back fashion. Granger is still staring at him and it’s starting to piss him off. She has this annoying way of weaseling confessions straight from his mouth, like the way he told her about why he’d come back to Hogwarts in the first place. Apparently he’s in the mood for ruining his image bit by bit in front of Gryffindor’s princess, since he drops his hands to his sides and answers truthfully, “Because as much as I hate to admit this, Granger, but I don’t want that kid to end up like me. And if that means letting him hang out with you and watching you bond with him while I struggle with this crisis at hand, then so be it.”

The look that passes Granger’s face makes him want to bash his head in.

“Oh, wow,” she says, sounding every bit as shocked as he feels, “You are seriously not ready to be a father, are you?”

“What gave it away?”

For the first time since their little conversation, Granger manages to smile at him. The sight of it makes him look away, something in his chest burning.

“I’ve had experience with children,” she shares, “I used to babysit during the summer. They’re difficult but easy to understand once you try hard enough. Scorpius is undoubtedly feeling lonely right now. He’s been away from home for nearly two months now. It’s no wonder he keeps reaching out to you.”

Draco sighs, shaking his head. “Must Gryffindor advice be so cheesy? You’re saying that I have to open up to him.”

Almost like an afterthought, Granger steps closer to him. Draco freezes, unsure how to react, but she simply glances into the direction of where they both left Scorpius, her face flooding with relief when she sees that he’s still there. Like a good little puppy. Then she glances back at him, a thoughtful look crossing her features.

“You can start,” she tells him, stepping back, “by getting around that one question you promised to answer. He’s already asked me a bunch of personal stuff about you so unless you want me to write your incredibly biased and totally not embarrassing autobiography, I suggest you _actually_ sit down and talk to your son for a minute.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I read some of your comments about wanting to see Draco and Blaise in the futureverse, just frantically trying to get Scorpius back. I would love to write more about that but I'm afraid it would break my flow of the storyline. But don't worry, we'll get around to seeing some familiar faces soon. And I don't think I have to actually write about it, since it's clear that future!Draco is just a MESS right now. Messier than our present Draco lol. 
> 
> Anyway, if you enjoyed this chapter, please do drop a comment! Keep pushing me to finish this!! I adore your words!! 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	14. Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize...... for posting literally a month later..... hope you enjoy this one. A few familiar faces show up hehe.

 

> _"One day he’ll realize he is and was wrong. But that’s for him to figure out. You can’t change people or make them realize things they don’t want to see."_
> 
> \- Dominic Riccitello

 

* * *

 

With his knees tucked snugly against his chest and a book laid open in front of him, Scorpius thinks that there’s no better way to describe a perfect Sunday than with a hot chocolate drink and all the time in the world to rearrange his thoughts, even though he’s certain that all of his burning questions will never get the necessary answers that he needs. While he’s sure that Blaise and Hermione would prefer to have him walking around the castle on this perfectly snowy day, the idea of wasting away his time on this book he’s gotten from the library seems like a solid way to go. Besides, he thinks that Draco likes it better when he’s all quiet on the sides, regardless if he doesn’t voice it out loud.

Speaking of Draco, his young father has been glaring at him from his spot on the couch, a coffee mug floating beside his head as he too reads from one of his books. Or pretends to.

Scorpius has glanced up several times to see that Draco’s icy stare hasn’t once moved away. He wonders if he should say something to break the tension but his father is hardly the type of person who welcomes any sort of conversation with him. Well, this version of his father anyway. So he sucks it up and pretends like he doesn’t find it weird that his father could stare him down and not talk to him at all.

He flips through a page, tries to read the first sentence, but then --

“What are you reading?”

Scorpius looks up to see that Draco has now forsaken his book and is now watching him carefully. The weight of his father’s stare is heavy but not unwelcome. He finds it easier to look him in the eye now, compared to the earlier moments when they constantly butted heads.

“Uh,” Scorpius stutters, lifting his book entitled _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century,_ “This?”

Draco gives him a look. “How Ravenclaw of you,” he snarls, like it’s a bad thing. Maybe for him, it is. Scorpius doesn’t know -- he barely understands how Draco’s mind works most of the time.

“Thanks?” he says questionably and Draco rolls his eyes once more.

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Scorpius nibbles on his lower lip and tries to return to his book. But once again, he feels his father staring at him, as if he’s waiting for a reaction somehow. It’s starting to seriously worry him so he clears his throat, puts down his book and looks over at his father.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asks slowly and nervously, feeling his heart rate pick up suddenly.

“I don’t know, kid,” Draco says, almost mockingly, “ _Should_ I be telling you something?”

“If this is about the one question that you’ve promised to answer, then I actually had one in mind already,” Scorpius remarks, sliding from his seat at the window and coming up to his teenage dad, “It’s been a few days, but that’s given me enough time to ask you one really important question that could, like, answer all of my other questions.”

Draco raises a dubious eyebrow. “I doubt that,” he huffs, reaching out and taking a sip from his coffee mug, “I’m not the kind of person who willingly gives up information about himself. Perhaps I used to be before. But not anymore.”

“So, you _are_ going to answer my question?”

His father shrugs, picks up the book he was reading just a few moments ago and throws it to the side. “Got nothing better to do,” he says tersely and Scorpius can see the tension in his shoulders. It puts him off for a few seconds because Draco looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here or rather be talking to anybody else than his own son. The sight of his furrowed eyebrows and frowning mouth stings Scorpius. Even after two months of staying in this timezone, it still hurts when Draco sets him aside like a broken toy.

He’s about to turn away and mumble something about asking the question another time when he hears Draco sigh heavily. He looks back at his father only to find him rubbing his face with a tired expression written all over his features. Now that Scorpius thinks about, Draco looks like he hasn’t gotten much sleep. Well, he doesn’t really actually sleep at night. There’s always something that keeps him up awake and once or twice, the younger Malfoy caught him having nightmares in his sleep or just staring at the wall, looking so still that he’d actually feared the worse.

“I should go,” Scorpius says, getting back to his place by the window and taking the book he left there, “I won’t disturb you anymore.”

His feet drag him towards the exit of the Common Room as he pointedly looks away from Draco’s sharp gaze when --

“Kid, just hold on.”

Scorpius stops walking. He looks back, expectating another insult or a tantrum. Instead, he sees Draco staring at him with the most conflicted expression he’s ever seen. It reminds him of the time he first cried in his father’s arms a few weeks ago and Draco had held him so tightly it was as if he’d never let go. The moment makes him yearn for another. He misses being held by Father.

“What?” he asks when Draco doesn’t immediately reply.

The older Malfoy sighs. “Don’t go,” he mutters, looking very uncomfortable as he says it, “I -- I wanted to talk. To you, you know. About things. So we should just talk, right? I think this conversation is overdue.”

Scorpius finds himself staring. _Is Father nervous_ ? he thinks to himself, watching the way Draco shifts his weight from one foot to another and looks to the ground like there’s something very interesting about the dark green floor mat of the Common Room. The younger Malfoy chews his lower lip again, unsure of how to respond to the sudden olive branch being extended towards him. Because _of course_ he wants to talk to his father. That’s practically the only thing that he’s wanted to ever since he arrived here in the first place. But now that he’s actually being given a chance to do, he hesitates. _Why on earth is he hesitating_?

“Granger asked me to,” Draco says out of nowhere as if he’s read Scorpius’ mind. When Scorpius startles, his father continues on, “I asked her for some advice on how to deal with being a dad, because I have a shitty dad too, and she told me the first thing that I had to do is to _actually_ talk to you for once.”

“You talked to Hermione about _me_?” Scorpius says as if this is the most important piece of information he’s actually received his entire life.

Draco must think otherwise. “Yeah, yeah,” he says dismissively, “The little know-it-all actually had some pretty good points there. Anyway, let’s go to the Astronomy Tower. I have to show you something.” He waves his hand and the coffee cup that was levitating a few seconds ago deposits itself back into the kitchen. Scorpius watches this burst of magic, still irritated with the fact that he can’t do much with his own before he looks back at his father.

“What’s in the Astronomy Tower?” he asks.

A dark look passes Draco’s features. “Bad shit,” he answers.

The walk to the Astronomy Tower is quiet. Scorpius lags behind his father, anxious to keep up with his fast pace. There aren’t many students around loitering in the hallways. Maybe they’re studying or hanging out at their own dorms. It is Sunday, after all. He can imagine Hermione hanging out with Ginny or Luna at the Gryffindor Common Room or even doing her homework at the library. The thought soothes him for some reason. It helps to know that he can easily imagine where she’d be at this time. As for his own father, however, today is actually the first time they’re alone outside the dormitories. Draco is always busy with something, like letters for his mother or studying for some exam that he calls ‘stupid and useless.’ Besides, they always have Blaise tagging along. But today, Blaise isn’t anywhere near them.

When they arrive by the steps leading to the Tower, Scorpius remembers the last time he was here with Blaise. He remembers the conversation they had about Hermione and wonders if today, he’s finally going to get the answer he’s going to get about her.

Draco takes a shaky breath. “All right,” he mutters, “This is the first time I’ve been here since… the war. I’m not being a pussy or anything, but you should go ahead.”

Scorpius finds himself frowning. What is it about this place that seemed almost _traumatizing_ to him? He doesn’t ask, knowing that he won’t get an answer, and ascends the steps. Draco follows after a few seconds.

What greets the father and son duo is an empty but open area surrounded by a parapet with a large telescope in the middle of the tower, pointed towards the sky. Scorpius looks around, knowing that below the floor of this sort-of observatory is the corridor leading towards the reading room and classroom where some of the students often have their classes with Professor Sinistra. The Astronomy Tower has an almost peaceful vibe to it, like the calm before the storm, and he allows himself a moment of quiet.

“Fuck,” Draco mutters behind him.

Scorpius watches his young father, who sweeps his eyes across the area, looking like he’d rather be anywhere than here. His fists are tightly clenched at his sides. “Okay,” he says, letting out a deep breath, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Get over what?” Scorpius asks.

“This conversation.”

Scorpius pretends not to feel like he’s been stung by the words. It almost sounds as if he’s nothing more than a checklist his father has to finish. “Okay,” he simply mutters, heading over to the view and leaning his arms against the railing. It’s drizzling outside but he barely feels the specks of rain on his face. He’s never been up here before and the view has simply taken his breath away. The Astronomy Tower is one of the tallest in the school and it overlooks the expanse of Hogwarts, including the Quidditch Pitch and the Black Lake. He can see a few people walking back to the castle as the rain picks up and wonders what it’s like to have a clear mind on a moody day like this.

“What did you want to talk about?” Scorpius asks his dad, glancing at him over his shoulder. Draco is half hidden by the shadows and he’s still hovering by the doorway. His jaw twitches.

“I promised that I’d answer one question you’d ask me,” the older Slytherin grumbles and he seems to hesitate before stepping forward into the light.

“I thought you’d only answer that ten years from now.”

“Kid, I was joking. You’re not going to be here that long.”

Scorpius pauses. “Are you sure about that?”

Draco shrugs, running his fingers through his hair and letting his eyes move around the Tower. The look on his face seems panicky somehow. Like he doesn’t feel safe being up here with Scorpius.

“There’s no way McGonagall would let you stay here,” he says, “I might not know a shit ton about Time Travel or anything, but I do know that meddling with it has serious consequences.”

Scorpius glances back at the view. “Right,” he echoes, knowing the complexities behind paradoxes and whatnot. He tried to read about it but only got a headache in return.

They grow quiet. Draco leans his weight against the balcony, his hands gripping the railing of the parapet tight. He takes a deep, shuddering breath and for a split second, Scorpius has to wonder if he’s going to throw up again. He certainly has a greenish hue on his features right now, plagued with sweat shining on his forehead.

“Are you okay?” the young Malfoy asks, genuinely concerned.

“Fu -- _effing_ brilliant,” is what Draco responds, rubbing his eyes. “Like I’m on top of the world or something.”

Another pause. Scorpius draws closer. “Are you sure?” he demands quietly.

For a second there, he thinks that Draco’s going to snap at him again. The hand covering his father’s eyes clenches into a fist like he’s about to punch something in the air, or maybe even Scorpius. But the moment pauses and Draco visibly uncoils, as if all the weight in his shoulders have finally been shed off. He drops his hand to the side, let out another deep breath and gives Scorpius a look that his son hasn’t seen before. It’s wide, open and… _sad_. The kind of look that his Father back home always wears.

“What’s your question?” he asks, sounding resigned.

Scorpius swallows the lump in his throat. Again, he hesitates. But Draco’s grey eyes aren’t angry nor confused. _It’s that sad look_ , Scorpius thinks to himself.  For the first time, he doesn’t look at Draco like the teenage version of his father. At this moment, with Draco Malfoy wearing that sad, conflicted expression on his face, he _is_ Scorpius’ father.

“What -- “ Scorpius bites his lower lip. “What happened to you?”

If the question takes Draco by surprise, he doesn’t show it. The most minuscule of shifts happen in his face -- the slight furrow of his eyebrows, the flare of his nostrils, and the tightening of his lips right around the corners. He leans back.

“Big question,” he comments.

“Once in a lifetime question,” Scorpius responds.

His father nods, looking almost proud. “You want to know why I got so bad,” he says, tilting his head to the side, “Why I’m the way I am right now.”

“Hermione’s mentioned a few things,” Scorpius whispers, unsure if the name will evoke another bad reaction from his father, “She asks about you. I think she cares a little bit about what’s going on in your life right now. Even though she doesn’t tell me any details.”

“That sounds like her.”

A flurry of hope pops through Scorpius’ chest cavity. Draco didn’t sound happy about the fact that he knew something about how Hermione would sound like but there was a begrudging acceptance in his tone of voice.

“So, will you answer my question?” he presses on, hearing the own eagerness in his voice.

Draco raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s not pretty,” he says quietly, “You’ll never look at me the same way once you find out about all the things that I’ve done.”

Scorpius thinks about it but the gnawing agony of not knowing who his father really is, despite finally being given the chance to, trumps any fear of what he might discover. So he puts on a brave face, the bravest he can muster, and nods at Draco.

Draco’s face doesn’t change. “You asked for this,” he tells him before he glances around the Astronomy Tower once more, his expression growing grimmer as each second passes. Scorpius can feel his heart rapidly thundering his ribcage, like it's a bird desperate for flight in a locked cage, and he knows that Draco holds the key. Once those confessions start being released, at least some of his worries will finally be relieved.

His father rummages into his robes for something before producing a worn out photograph that Scorpius has already seen before. It’s the one that he found hidden beneath his father’s bedsheet. A family picture. The one with Draco looking happy and mischievous. Scorpius’ eyes find his father’s face in the photograph, happy and alight with the joys of youth, and flickers back to the real one, the one who looks haunted and pained.

“This is my family,” Draco utters, “My parents. They gave everything to me when I was a kid, always looked out for my best interests and told me that we were better than anybody else out there.” His lips twitch to an almost-smile but it disappears as quickly as it came. “We weren’t,” he adds a second later.

Scorpius doesn’t say anything. He reaches for the photograph. Draco hesitates before handing it in.

“When the Dark Lord came back,” Draco continues and Scorpius can hear the slightest tremor in his voice, “Father told me that he’d bring the glory days back. Before there were Muggleborns and Muggles in our society. It would be just the ones with wizard blood in them that would remain. I thought I wanted that. But then, Father was punished for constantly failing in his tasks and…”

Scorpius stares down at the man in the picture -- at his _Grandfather_.

“What’s his name?” he asks quietly.

“Lucius,” Draco replies after a moment.

The young Malfoy refrains from telling his father that his Grandfather has never once been mentioned in the future. He’s pretty sure that it’d go against the wishes of Headmistress McGonagall.

“Father told the Dark Lord that _I_ would appease for his mistakes,” Draco mutters.

“What do you mean -- _appease_?” Scorpius demands, aghast.

Draco looks back at him. His eyes are empty. “It’s exactly what you’d think,” he grumbles, “I was sent to replace his position in the ranks of the Dark Lord’s inner circle. But… I couldn’t handle it. I was given only a single task.”

For some reason, the hairs in the back of Scorpius’ neck suddenly stands. A cold gust of wind sweeps through the Tower, bringing along raindrops in their wake. Scorpius barely minds. He’s staring at his father, wide-eyed and fearful, afraid now of the words that are going to pop out of his mouth because these are the same words that he will never be able to un-hear afterward.

“I was tasked to kill Albus Dumbledore.”

//

Hermione drops her book on the table, rubbing her eyes. Her mind has been wandering for the past few days, especially with how the past few days have gone by. First off, she went on a Hogsmeade trip with none other than Draco and Scorpius Malfoy. Secondly, Malfoy asked her for help in getting to talk to his own son. And now, _this_ happens.

A stupid surprise mock exam that’s worth nearly a quarter of her grade.

“Professor Sprout’s trying to kill me,” she mutters to herself, glancing back at the Herbology notes she’s haphazardly made on the spot. She’s always been good with studying, but not when she’s trying to cram for an exam that they should’ve been given two weeks to study for, instead of just two freaking days.

She thinks of other ways she could’ve been doing on this beautiful Sunday. She might’ve been able to drop by Hagrid’s Hut and have a nice cup of tea for a while or even get around to talking to Ginny and Luna about her spending time with Scorpius. But _no_ , she’s stuck here trying to make outlines on months’ worth of learnings in one sitting. Sighing loudly to herself, she opens her notebook on an essay regarding the intricate way Devil’s Snare is supposed to be taken care of when somebody suddenly reaches from behind her and covers her eyes.

“ _Guess wh_ \-- “

“ _Stupefy_!” Hermione yells after swiftly turning around and slicing her wand into the air. The person covering her eyes slams backward into a row of bookshelves, the impact shaking all of them enough to the point that it collapses on top of him. The hundreds of books that fall cover the top of his body, showing only a glimpse of shocking red hair peeking through the open pages and sturdy spines.

Hermione barely registers the librarian’s raised voice at the front desk yelling at the ruckus or the fact that her best friend Harry is laughing from his hidden place behind another bookshelf, his green eyes alight with joy at the sight of Ron trying to clamber his way out of the mess that he’s found himsef in. Her heart is too busy druming inside her chest. _Merlin_ , she thinks to herself, _never sneak up on a person who’s just been through a war!_

Boys will be boys.

“Sorry,” Ron mumbles, rubbing his head and wincing, “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Clearly, Ronald!” Hermione shouts, her voice shrill as she tries to calm her heart. She can hear the librarian rushing towards their place in the library and waves her wand to fix the bookshelves that they’ve just destroyed. Thankfully, Ron still has some of his brain cells left because he gets out of the way before he does something stupid once more.

Harry steps closer, his hands raised in a surrendering stance. But a grin is stucked into his smile. It’s been a long time since she’s actually seen him smile as easily like that. “We wanted to surprise you,” he explains, “but yeah, probably should’ve asked Ron to prepare his wand before you hexed him out of oblivion.”

Hermione glances sharply at Ron, who gives her a sheepish smile. A memory forces its way into her brain -- one of their first and only date -- and she winces inwardly. She’s missed her best friends dearly but now that they’re standing before her, she can’t help but dread any sort of conversation she’s going to have with Ron.

Ron, who’s looking at her like Christmas just came early.

“I’ve been waiting for your letters,” Hermione mutters, shooting the librarian a small little wave to let them know that they’re okay before she gathers her things into her arms and leads the way out. “Is it hard to write a single sentence? _Hi Hermione, we’re alive and well. Thought you should know_.”

“That’s two sentences,” Harry points out, shutting up when Hermione gives him another glare.

“Couldn’t risk it,” Ron tells her, following her closely, “We were tracking some really important people. Ones who still have connections with the ongoing resistance.”

“A few little weeds popped out after we checked some locations,” Harry pipes in helpfully, opening the door for the exit once they reach them, “Shacklebot actually thought that it was a dead end. It wasn’t. We found more of Bellatrix’s cousins.”

Hermione’s stomach suddenly drops at the mention of the name. “Bellatrix’s cousins?” she asks, her voice hollow. Even though the scar of the _mudblood_ that she wrote on Hermione’s arm has faded into a thin white line that she finds herself tracing on some days, she can’t help but feel like her skin has suddenly started burning out of nowhere.

“That’s not the best part,” Ron mumbles.

It seems easy, being in the castle along with her two best friends. They walk in unison, as they’ve done for the past seven years. Harry keeps in mind to open all doors. Ron gets some of her books off her arms when they start getting too heavy. But all that Hermione can think about, for some unknown reason, is the fact that she and Draco have never once talked about the rest of his family, only about little Scorpius Malfoy.

“And what is the best part?” Hermione asks as they round another corner heading towards the Great Hall. It’s nearing suppertime and she can already see a few familiar faces emerging out of their Common Rooms.

“It’s about Malfoy,” Ron eagerly whispers and Hermione’s heart drops, once because of what he said and twice because she sees the said Malfoy, with Scorpius trailing behind him, descending from upstairs. Both look tired but Malfoy has his hand on Scorpius’ shoulder, keeping him close.

Both Harry and Ron haven’t noticed their arch enemy nor his son.

“His father -- _Lucius_ \-- is helping the resistance,” Harry tells Hermione, his voice dropping to a whisper, “They’re planning on taking revenge for all those Death Eaters imprisoned after the war. Voldemort may be gone, but his most loyal followers are still here. Including Malfoy.”

And that’s the exact moment when Draco locks eyes with Hermione from across the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote all of this two days ago and was only able to post it bc tomorrow is my thesis defense and I wanted to finish writing this chapter so that I can actually focus on it more hehe. 
> 
> As usual, leave a comment!!! All those comments from last chapter really pushed me to get on ahead with this one. I didn't want to disappoint you guys and I hope you aren't with this one.
> 
> Love, Mia.


	15. Rival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY THE PLOT IS STARTING TO PICK UP!!! Expect more of these quick updates because I fucking love it when the plot is starting to come together and I'm just frantically trying to catch up with it. Our two favorite heroes (Harry and Ron) might not be so lovable here lmao I tried to write them according to you know, canon, because I've read way too many Dramione fics where they demonize Ron a lot and I didn't really want that to happen hehe. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

 

> _“You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast.”_  
>  ― Catherynne M. Valente, Deathless

 

* * *

 

Draco’s eyes narrow at the sight of Weasley and Potter standing on either side of Granger. Unconsciously, he takes a step back and draws an arm towards his son, trying to get him to do the same. He pulls out his wand from his back pocket, sensing trouble. The kid looks up, obviously confused. His mind is probably still processing what his father told him back at the Tower.

“Get back and don’t say anything,” Draco hisses. The sight of those two blubbering idiots is always a cause for alarm. 

The kid follows his gaze towards Weasley and Potter. His eyes widen, obviously recognizing them, and Draco feels a primal urge to snap. From what he can probably guess, those two are probably still famous in the future. It pisses him off to think about it. The kid obviously looks up to  _ good  _ influences and it’s clear that he isn’t part of it. 

“You know that we’re not in lovey-dovey terms with those two fools,” Draco says, moving to turn around and pulling the kid along with him. He’d rather not talk to the heroes now, or ever, especially after they saved his life back at the Room of Requirement. Even after Potter personally pardoned him and his mother, there are some things that just can’t be forgiven. 

He can feel Granger’s eyes on his back. He has to leave  _ now _ , before they see that he’s here, see just how much of a mess he’s become the past few months — 

“ _ Expelliarmus!”  _

The wand in his hand suddenly flies out of his grip and into the waiting palm of Potter. He scowls, realizing that he should’ve left sooner before he turns around and faces his old nemesis. Potter’s face is grim and distrustful but Draco can already sense the something else behind those stupid green eyes of his. 

All of the students heading toward the Great Hall stop to watch the two, holding their breaths. No McGonagall is around to stop the row that they’re obviously going to have. 

“Didn’t expect to see you two here again,” Draco says, clenching his hands. He’s not comfortable without a wand and he just got that one after Potter stole his. Defenseless and vulnerable, he doesn’t look over at Scorpius because he doesn’t want to draw their attention to him. 

Potter puts down his wand. “I could say the same for you,” he says calmly, “We need to talk.” 

Those words don’t settle well for him. In all the years that he’s known the three idiots, he can safely say that Granger is the most sensible one. A conversation alone with all three of them won’t be as civil as the previous ones that he’s had with Granger. 

Granger, who’s currently staring at him with a troubled expression written all over her features. She has Weasley standing guard in front of her, which makes Draco want to roll his eyes. 

“I have nothing to say to you,” he quietly tells Potter, stepping forward and extending his hand, “so I’d like my wand back.” 

“Nothing to say to us?” Weasley repeats as he narrows his eyes. “We saved your life back here, you ferret. The least you can do is do what you’re told.” 

“I’m not going to follow orders around from the likes of  _ you _ ,” Draco spits, unable to stop himself. 

Both Weasley and Potter step forward. It’s Granger who tugs both of their shirts back towards her. “ _ Boys _ ,” she hisses, glaring at all three of them, “We’re not children anymore. Learn to grow up.” 

“You never told us he was here, Hermione,” Potter grumbles, “If you had, that would’ve made our jobs easier.” 

Draco frowns, not liking the semantics behind those words. He can hear the rest of the students whispering behind him, oblivious to the fact that he can hear the word  _ Death Eater  _ being thrown around. Once again the pariah. It’s not the first nor the last time he’ll feel like an outcast in the one place that was supposed to offer salvation to his tormented soul. Even though the Dark Mark on his arm has faded, his allegiance to the Dark Lord’s cause and his family name will always follow him around like black ink on a white shirt.

_ Always _ . 

“I believed it wasn’t important,” Granger tells Potter and the comment stings Draco more than he’d like to admit. 

“ _ Not important _ ?” Weasley snaps, glaring at Draco, “That no-good piece of — ” 

To all of their surprise, Granger silences him with a flick of her wand. The  _ Silencio  _ is uttered nonverbally and Draco can’t help the satisfaction that leaps in his throat at the sight of Weasley’s outraged face. 

“Hermione — “ sputters Potter. 

“We need to talk about this  _ alone  _ in a private area where none of the student population can see the three of you bickering around like a bunch of petty children!” 

Without the need of another  _ Silencio _ , Draco and Potter are both silenced. Granger nods over at the doors of the Great Hall, demanding that they talk over this outside and Draco quickly uses this time away from Potter and Weasley to look over at his kid, who has watched all of the events unfold with wide eyes and an open mouth. As Granger drags her two friends to the Courtyard, he grabs his son by the shoulder and furiously whispers, “Find Blaise and stay in the Common Room. I’ll find you later myself. That’s an order. Now  _ go _ .” 

The kid has the balls to glare at him. “I’m not leaving you.” 

Something in his chest kicks. “I’m going to be fine. It’s just Potter and Weasley,” the older Malfoy mumbles, trying to sound as confident as he feels. Those two idiots are no longer under the jurisdiction of the school but of the Ministry of Magic. It’s not a secret that they’re Aurors in training, looking for rogue Death Eaters. If they find anything on him -- he could be arrested.  

“They were looking at you like you -- like you’re a bad guy or something!” His son is aghast, as if he can’t believe that anybody could look at his father and not think that he was good. It’s laughable and pitiful. But at the same time, it makes Draco feel like the world has tipped on its axis. Even after everything he’s told him -- how he treated Potter and his friends, how he sided with the Dark Lord, how he got people hurt just trying to kill Dumbledore -- Scorpius still thinks he’s  _ good _ . 

“I am a bad guy, kid,” Draco presses, wanting to shake him. “What the hell, after everything I did, you still think I’m anything but a  _ villain _ ? Do you know what the word means?” 

“Of course I know what that means!” the kid snaps, brown eyes narrowed at the implication, “But you’re not a bad guy. If you were, you would’ve been sent away. Like -- I don’t know -- like Voldemort! Instead, you’re here! You grew up to be my dad. You have a job. You have a house. You have  _ me _ . That must mean something, right?” 

“Are you seriously an idiot?” Draco sneers but his heart is pounding loudly inside his chest.  _ That must mean something _ . He’s spent the past few months ducking his head when people look his way, shrinking into the wall and trying not to draw any attention to himself. Ever since the war -- he’s believed that he surmounts to nothing, that he’s worse than shit under the sole of a shoe, that he could never be saved, after everything that he did. 

But then -- this kid shows up, tells him he has a future and his whole entire perspective changes. 

_ Can I still be saved _ ? 

“You’re my father,” the kid tells him firmly but with growing tears in his eyes, “You’re all I have.” 

With a dawning realization, Draco realizes the flaw of children: they will always look up to their parents, no matter how bad they are. It’s how Draco used to look at his own father too. Look where that got him. 

But, maybe, this could be different. 

“Scorpius.” It’s the first time he’s said the name out loud and the kid knows this, because his eyes grow wide. “Please. Go back to the Common Room. I have something to settle with Potter and Weasley.” 

“But -- “ Scorpius hesitates. “ -- they won’t take you away, right?” 

“I’d kick them in the arse if they ever did.” 

That draws a slight giggle from the kid. Draco gives him a small pat on the head before pushing him lightly to the direction of the Common Room. “Now go and find Blaise.” 

Scorpius leaves but not before throwing one last worried glance at his father. Draco nods at him to keep going and watches as he disappears around a corner. Their conversation was spoken in quiet whispers but now that he’s finally alone, he can hear the whispers of the rest of the students, following after him as he makes his way towards the courtyard, where the stupid Golden Trio is waiting. 

Potter and Weasley shoot daggers at him from where they stand when he emerges from the large doors. Granger is seated by the fountain, nervously biting her nails. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and worried. Draco finds himself unable to tear his gaze for a few short seconds before he draws his attention to the snow falling around them. It’s nearing Christmas now -- he’ll be back home after a few more weeks in this hell hole. 

“I recall being pardoned by the infamous Harry Potter,” Draco drawls, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robe, “Don’t tell me you withdraw that pardon.” 

“That was before your father started doing shady business again,” Potter says calmly. 

He schools his expression not to react, even though the words shoot through a hole in his heart.  _ Shady business _ ? “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Fat chance,” Weasley grumbles, coming to stand next to his best friend, “We know what you guys are up to.” 

“I find it hard to believe that Father Dearest didn’t tell his son about it,” Potter points out. 

A wave of fury rolls over him at the mention of his father. “I told you,” he spits out, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve barely seen my father since classes started.”

“Again, hard to believe.” 

Draco scoffs, shaking his head. “If you want to accuse me of something, at least have the decency to show up with some proof.” 

“You’re all the proof that we need, Malfoy,” Weasley growls, “I can’t believe we saved your life back here and then you just go back to being a Death Eater again. What, did you like kissing Voldemort’s ass back then?”

“ _ No _ !” The idea of the Dark Lord makes him shudder. “Why the fuck would I go back to that?” 

“You’d do anything for your father, wouldn’t you?” Potter presses. 

“I used to,” Draco snaps, thinking of Scorpius, “but not anymore. I don’t have to explain myself to you.” 

“Explain this then.” Potter steps forward. “We were in Romania a couple of days ago, trying to track down the Lestranges. Rodolphus Lestrange, Bellatrix’s husband, was believed to have been spotted there. We show up armed on the day of a meeting and find more of your family members, cousins, uncles and everybody else that share your blood discussing ways to break out the rest of the Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban. They’re the ones putting up resistance, kidnapping Muggles and torturing them.” 

Draco knows. This is the very content of Father’s letters to him every now and then, highlighting other known pureblood families being targeted by the Ministry. The Lestranges had been one of them. He knows this but there’s no way in hell he’s giving Potter or Weasley that kind of information. Because as much as he knows his Father, he also knows that these two idiots wouldn’t hesitate to throw him beyond bars. 

“What’s this got to do with me?” Draco questions, narrowing his eyes, because he can see where this is going. 

“It has  _ everything  _ to do with you,” Weasley snarls, “because when interrogated, they sold you out. Your father was mentioned to be helping them.” 

It shouldn’t have shocked Draco. It’s expected. Hell, he even thought that his father would never go down with a fight. But still, he feels the force of those words slap him across the face and hurt him right where it matters the most. Because as much as he expected his father to go down this path, some small part of him believed that he learned his lesson. Some part of him, like what Scorpius displayed earlier, believed that Lucius Malfoy could also do good. 

“I don’t have anything to do with that,” Draco says stiffly, hateful that he had to find out this way. 

“We don’t believe you,” Weasley grunts. 

“Of course you wouldn’t.” 

“Did you seriously expect that we would?” Weasley asks incredulously.

A small part of him actually did. The bitterness in the back of his throat sickens him.  

“You can fucking use the truth serum on me. You did that before, didn’t you? Before you pardoned me.” The blonde shoots Potter a look. “You must be disappointed that you thought I had changed.” 

Potter’s face grows dark. “You never did.” 

It’s  _ that  _ certainty in his nemesis’ voice that pisses Draco off. It’s one thing to believe that he’s a piece of shit, it’s another for another person to also say it out loud. “Are you going to arrest me?” he asks snarkily, taking a step back, “Because I stand my ground. I don’t have anything to do with what my father is planning.” 

Granger, who was watching the whole exchange from her place on the fountain, finally stands up. She lays a hand on both of Potter and Weasley’s shoulders, slightly pushing them out of the way so that she’s standing directly in front of Draco, who finds himself relaxing slightly. 

“You guys know better than this. Our blood doesn’t define who we are.” She looks at Draco carefully. “Perhaps we should give Malfoy the benefit of the doubt.” 

“But Hermione,” Weasley says, sounding like a child who's gotten his toy taken away by his mother, “This is  _ Malfoy  _ we’re talking about.” 

“Yes, Malfoy, the person who couldn’t even lift his wand to murder Dumbledore,” Granger says, not spitefully, but as a matter-of-fact, “I doubt that he’d willingly let himself be swayed back into the dark side by his father.” 

“You’re letting your optimism cloud your better judgment, Hermione,” Potter says disapprovingly, “The fact remains: his father is helping the resistance. He knows something, whether he likes it or not.”  

“I told you,” Draco says as patiently as he can, “I don’t know anything about the resistance.”

The two idiots ignore him as they glare at Granger. “When did you start defending Death Eaters?” Weasley questions, scandalized.

For a split second, Granger meets Draco’s gaze. Her stare holds questions, possibly asking him if it’s true about what her friends have told him about Lucius Malfoy, and all he can do then is shake his head slightly, wanting nothing more than to tell her that everything he’s said is the truth -- he has no idea what his father is up to. Hopefully, she gets the message. He doesn’t understand why it matters that she defends him. 

“I’m not defending them,” Granger says, looking away, and Draco’s heart constricts. But then she glances back at the Slytherin. “Because Malfoy isn’t a Death Eater. Not anymore.”

Potter shakes his head, turning away as if what Granger has said personally disgusted him. Weasley looks confused for only a few short seconds before rage settles in quickly.

“Have you forgotten what he did?” he demands, “Back at the Manor? He might not have the Dark Mark anymore but he’s still a shitty person -- ” Draco feels a lump in his throat at the stark reminder -- “He watched you get tortured by his crazy aunt and barely did anything about it -- ”  _ Because they would’ve killed me _ , Draco wants to say -- “He nearly got all of us killed back at the Room of Requirement -- ”  _ I tried to stop Crabbe _ , he thinks to himself, closing his eyes in memory of his friend “ -- and here you are, trying to  _ defend  _ him? What’s gotten into you?” 

_ Yes _ , Draco questions, opening his eyes and looking back at Granger,  _ why are you defending me?  _

Granger isn’t looking at Weasley but straight at Draco. “I’ve been watching him” she firmly answers, “ever since he came back to Hogwarts. He has been nothing but civil towards me and he hasn’t done anything that would warrant for any suspicious behavior.”

“That doesn’t mean anything -- “

“Before you forget, Ronald,” Granger grunts, “Malfoy is hardly the type of person who can keep things to himself. If he knew of his father’s actions, it would’ve been written all over that smug face of his.” 

Weasley’s eyebrows shoot up. “But -- “ 

Draco shoots Granger a dark glare. “You don’t have to say it like that,” he grumbles. 

“It’s true.” 

“Piss off.” 

“At the end of the day,” Granger stresses again, looking at her two stupid friends, “Both of you are training to be Aurors now. The justice system has a process that needs to be followed and if you want Malfoy to be a witness, then you need to go through legal proceedings. Until then, back off.” 

Draco lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. Weasley looks like he just had a mouthful of slugs again, which is always a good memory to look back upon. Meanwhile, Potter is staring at Granger like she’s grown another head out of her ass. Tonight has certainly seen history made -- never in his wildest dreams did he actually expect Hermione Granger to defend him from her two idiot friends. 

Weasley points a finger at his face, ears red as his hair. “Just because you’ve got Hermione brainwashed or something doesn’t mean that you’re off the hook,” he snaps. 

“He didn’t brainwash me,” Granger growls. 

“Your girlfriend’s a big girl, Weasley,” Draco says, raising an eyebrow when Granger scoffs, “I think she can make her own decisions.”

“Of course she can but -- “ 

“I’m not his girlfriend,” Granger tells him as she ignores Weasley’s flabbergasted expression, “and you should be thanking me for saving your skin here.”

The Slytherin does a little mocking bow. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

There’s something absolutely delightful about the smoke that’s coming out of Weasley’s ears. Draco finds himself grinning, wanting nothing more than to keep pushing on so that he can see him break down all over again. A screaming Weasley is always entertaining. But he sees Granger glaring at him and he sighs, already stepping back. “If there’s nothing else, then give me my wand back, Potter.” 

Granger redirects her glare at Potter this time and her friend lets out a huge sigh, as if it really does pain him, and throws Draco’s wand back to its owner. 

Weasley’s ears are still red. Draco should leave now, before the tension gets worse, before Weasley’s temper blows up, before Potter realizes that his newfound fame could be used as an excuse for authority. And he is walking away, taking his time doing so, before he realizes that he’s not the type of person who allows himself to be spited. Looking back at the three Gryffindors, his mouth moves on its own accord and he’s insulting them once again, like the old petty Draco Malfoy would’ve done: 

“You should get back to the Ministry, Weasley. The fact that they hired you as an Auror means that they really must be getting desperate -- “

“That’s it!” Weasley yells behind him and there’s the sound of a wand being drawn; Draco whips around quickly to find that Weasley now has his wand pointed straight at him. “I don’t believe that you of all people could actually change.  _ Flipendo! _ ” 

A wave of energy knocks Draco against the steps of the castle. His back hits the concrete hard and a flare of pain shoots through his spine.

“ _ Ron! _ ” Through the pounding in his ears, Draco faintly hears Granger pushing Weasley back, further away from where he lay.

The Slytherin raises his wand, aiming for the redhead.  “ _ Stupefy! _ ” he shouts. Weasley dodges and the spell ricochets on a statue behind Potter, who jumps to the side. Granger hurries over to him. 

“Can’t even aim right,” the redhead remarks, his wand still drawn.

“I did that on purpose.” Draco rises to his feet, refusing to also lower his wand. 

“Piss off, Malfoy.” 

“I would’ve done so gladly, had you not shot first,” Draco spits, rubbing at his back where a painful throb still originated, “Come on, Weasley. This isn’t a fair fight. You’ve got Granger and Scarhead holding your hand in case you puke out slugs again —” 

“I can fight my own battles!” Ron screeches and a red light shoots out from his wand to hit the wall next to the Slytherin. Draco throws out his arm to shield himself from the debris that flies off from the force of the spell. One shard slams against his temple and he stumbles. “I’m not like  _ you _ ,” Weasley spits out, “Always relying on your pathetic father to save your arse —” 

Another wave of fury, stronger than ever before, washes over Draco. Heedless of the pain in his head and back, he yells, “ _ Diffindo!”  _ The front of his opponent robes slices open, revealing skin underneath, but the spell isn’t enough to  _ hurt _ and it makes the blood in Draco’s veins boil.  _ Stupid, useless piece of shit _ , he thinks of himself,  _ Can’t even hurt a loser like Weaselbee.  _

Weasley steps back, a growl in his throat. 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ ,” Draco rages, “talk about my father like that.” 

“Why not?” the redhead taunts, “Last I heard, it cost a fortune to have him bailed out of Azkaban for his crimes. I bet you’re not even worth a penny, Malfoy. How do you like  _ that _ ?” Another blast erupts from his wand. This time, Draco manages to put up a  _ protego  _ in front of him, diffusing the blow. 

“Ron,  _ stop _ !” Potter barks, already on his feet and trying to shield Draco from his friend’s field of vision, “He’s not worth it.” 

“Oh, I know  _ that _ !” Weasley pushes Potter to the side, eyes still trained on Draco whose half crouched on the floor. “I just want to make sure that he  _ remembers  _ it.” 

Draco touches his temple. There’s blood dripping down the side of his cheek. The metallic smell of it reminds him of the old days, back at the Manor, when the Dark Lord made him bleed so bad he thought he was going to die. The memory of it is enough to make him nauseous. 

A hand suddenly reaches out and touches him on the shoulder. He flinches, ready to turn away, but it’s only Granger crouched in front of him with her large brown doe-like eyes staring up into his face from underneath long eyelashes. She’s nibbling on her bottom lip, as usual, as she stares at the gash on Draco’s temple. They’ve never been close like this before — Draco can plainly see the flecks of gold in her eyes and the freckles that dot her cheeks, like constellations on a night sky. He can feel the warmth radiating from her proximity and for the first time in his life, he wonders what it would be like to be held by her, if it’s the same as snuggling close to a furnace. 

“Does it hurt?” she asks quietly. 

“Granger, I —” he doesn’t know what to say. Some part of him, the large bigoted asshole still holding onto pureblood supremacy, wants to push her away and scream at her face. Another part wants to stay. His gaze moves over to her shoulder and finds Weasley and Potter staring at them with horrified expressions. 

“I have to patch that up,” Granger tells him and before they know it, she touches the sides of his face and turns his head sideways to get a better look at the wound. Her touch is warm and it burns him. 

“ _ Hermione _ —” Potter calls, stepping forward unsurely. 

“What the fuck happened while we weren’t here?” Weasley demands, voice shrill, “You — you were  _ fraternizing  _ with the enemy, weren’t you? If he’s told you anything, it's all a bunch of lines! Merlin, Hermione, are you  _ stupid _ ?” 

Granger must’ve had enough because she whips around and produces another  _ Silencio  _ charm, effectively shutting up both Potter and Weasley. “I’ll have you know,” she says, her voice dangerously low, “that I’ve gotten to know Malfoy the past few months and if you think that he’s part of Lucius Malfoy’s scheme to get revenge for Voldemort’s death, then you’re both _ stupid _ . Malfoy has been remorseful and civil in the aftermath of the war and I will not allow you to ruin such progress of a person whose only trying to change for the better!” Her two idiot friends open and close their mouths in outrage but nothing comes out. 

Draco is frozen. Momentarily forgetting about the throbbing pain in his head, he can only watch as Granger flicks her wand again and the Silencing Charm’s effect vanishes. Weasley doesn’t say anything anymore, looking too pissed off to even utter a few intelligible mumbles. Meanwhile, Potter’s voice is rough and low as he steps forward and asks, “And what makes you so sure that Malfoy has really changed?” 

“Draco?” 

_ Shit _ . He twists around and finds Scorpius peeking out of the doors of the castle with Blaise closely behind. His son’s eyes grow wide at the gash on his temple. 

“I told you to stay at the Common Room,” Draco snaps, glaring furiously at Blaise, who quickly assesses the situation with a locked jaw. 

“It was kind of hard to walk away when we heard the fighting,” Blaise explains, stepping into the courtyard and pulling his blonde friend up to his feet. “Thankfully, the rest of the castle’s too busy eating dinner to mind it. McGonagall would skin your arses.” 

Scorpius, still fearful and cautious, bounds up to his father and stares at the blood on his cheek. It is at that moment that Draco remembers the throbbing pain in his back from his fall on the castle steps. He winces. 

“You need to go to Madam Pomfrey!” the kid says hurriedly, tugging at his arm, “Or — or else — you — you might die and I —” 

Against his better judgment, Draco laughs. “Nobody’s dying, kid.” 

Blaise directs his attention to Potter and Weasley, who stare at Scorpius like he’s The Dark Lord reincarnated. “You might be heroes,” Draco’s friend says scathingly, “but you have no right to take away a father from his son. Piss off, will you?” 

“What the hell?” Potter asks, unable to take his eyes off Scorpius. Weasley opens and closes his mouth like a tuna. Even though the  _ Silencio  _ has worn off, he still hasn’t said anything. 

“I’ll explain later,” Granger tells him. “Just — I need you guys to go back to the Common Room. Find Ginny. I’ll catch up.” When she glances back at the two Slytherins and Scorpius, her eyes go soft. Draco feels a lump clog his throat at the sight. It has never occurred to him before — perhaps it’s because of his small head injury or from the high of the moment because nobody has ever defended him as fiercely as Granger just did — but standing there with Hermione Granger looking at him with the softest expression on her face, eyes sad and glassy, Draco realizes just how…  _ beautiful _ she really is. 

He looks away, stunned at his own admission. 

“Come on, Draco,” Scorpius says, pulling him back to the castle, “Madam Pomfrey’s this way.” 

“Right.” He allows himself to be taken away, Blaise guarding his back.  _ You’ve been hit in the head too hard, mate, _ he thinks to himself but the image of Granger looking at him like  _ that _ — like it hurts her to see him hurting — well, it fucking messes him up.

“Malfoy,  _ wait _ !” They hear from behind. He hesitates, already knowing who it is. When he twists around and finds Granger looking up at him, he has to remember to put a scowl on his face. 

“What do you want?” he asks and even he can tell that his voice lacks its usual bite. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, glancing at Scorpius, “About Harry and Ron. I tried to talk some sense into them but — but they just won’t listen.” 

Draco’s head is still throbbing. He touches the gash on his head again and winces. His fingers come away red. “It’s fine, Granger,” he mutters, still confused at the fact that he really isn’t angry at her at all. Sure, he’s beyond pissed off about Weasley and Potter but he can’t look at Granger with the same level of distaste and anger. It’s inconvenient for him because it would be  _ easier  _ to just hate her along with her two stupid parasites for friends. The past few months have surely made him softer. 

“No!” Granger says, distressed, “It’s not  _ fine _ . You’ve been nothing but civil towards me ever since the war ended and now, you have a kid to look after. The fact that he can see you like this -- bloody and beaten -- well, it’s just not  _ right _ !” 

Unknown to the two of them, Blaise and Scorpius share a knowing look. 

“Granger,” Draco says through gritted teeth as the pain in his head deepens, “We’ll talk some other time. You’re giving me a bloody headache.” 

She looks close to tears now. “Oh,  _ Draco _ .” She says his name like a sigh and something in his chest gives. “You don’t deserve to be treated like this.” 

It’s not the first time he’s heard it. His mother has whispered it to him multiple times after the Battle of Hogwarts, Blaise has offhandedly talked about how nobody should be a Death Eater after he saw the thin white lines on Draco’s back, even Scorpius with his large doe-like eyes, has expressed agony over what he’s been through. 

But it’s different with Granger. 

Maybe for once, he can believe it. 

“Nobody does,” is all he can say before the three of them turn and leave. 

History has surely been made -- never in his wildest dreams did he expect to think about Granger with anything other than disdain. Now he thinks of her and feels conflicted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this the start of slowburn Dramione??? 
> 
> I don't know, what do YOU think???
> 
> As usual, please comment! I love reading your thoughts <3 
> 
> Love, Mia.


	16. Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SLEEPY AND TIRED I WILL WRITE A BETTER INTRO

 

>   _“Because what’s worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it?”_  
>  ― James Patterson, The Angel Experiment 

 

 

* * *

 

Ron doesn’t speak to her for the next three days. It’s expected — his pride has been wounded; not only did Hermione stop him from badgering Draco but she also denied their relationship in front of him, which he would obviously believes to be a low blow. They’re not in any sort of relationship, of course, but Ron must’ve thought so otherwise, because everytime he finds himself in the same room alone with Hermione, he suddenly has to go pee or find Harry or send letters to his mum when she’s pretty sure that he hasn’t done so in a while. His efforts in avoiding her is typically Ron behavior but there’s something different about the way he looks at her now — like he doesn’t even know who she is.

She tries to get his sister to play as a mediator on the third day in the Great Hall but Ginny just gives her an odd look and says, “Since when do you two argue over Malfoy? You’re usually on the same side of things regarding the oaf.”

“Ron was being unruly,” Hermione explains, letting out a haggard sigh, “He attacked Draco first.”

Ginny smirks and puts down the book she was trying to read. “Since when did it become _Draco_ instead of Malfoy?” she asks knowingly.

Against her better judgment, Hermione blushes. It’s an immediate reaction, one that she doesn’t really question. Perhaps it’s just being put on the spot by Ginny but she uses _Draco_ now instead of Malfoy because of what transpired regarding his father. “I’ll have you know,” she says haughtily, “that Draco and I are becoming civil in terms of our interactions. He hasn’t even called me _Mudblood_ once ever since the start of the school year.” Her friend flinches, before recovering.

“Did it occur to you that he’s just trying to play nice because he doesn’t want to get in trouble?” Ginny questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Did it occur to _you_ that maybe he’s changed?” Hermione retorts.

Her friend simply shrugs. “So that’s why Ron’s saying that you’ve been brainwashed or something.”

Hermione scoffs. What a _Ronald_ thing to do — making Ginny turn on her. “I haven’t been,” she grumpily retorts, “and you should know better than to listen to just one side of the story. Draco really has changed and it’s mostly because of Scorpius —”

“I agree.”

“— and besides, he hasn’t been unpleasant to you, has he? Because I rarely see him interact with anybody else other than Scorpius or Zabini — _wait_ , you agree?” Hermione is dumbfounded; she expected a little bit of resistance from Ginny.

The redhead shrugs again. “Malfoy has a really large chip on his shoulder but you’re right: he hasn’t been bothering me. Besides, logically speaking, he has the most reason not to rejoin the Death Eaters. From what I heard from Harry, he’s still terrified of them.”

“So you don’t think I’ve been brainwashed?”

Ginny laughs, shakes her head and says, “Hermione, if there’s anybody who should be brainwashed, I think it’s Malfoy. What, did you spike his food with a Confounding Charm or something? Ever since you started hanging out, he’s like a declawed cat.”

There’s something about her tone of voice that sounds all too knowing and Hermione leans forward to question her about it, “Is there something that you’re not telling me, Ginny?” she asks as she narrows her eyes at her friend.

The redheaded girl rolls her own eyes. “I’m not dense,” she says, sounding personally offended by the implication, “I know that something’s going on between you and Malfoy. I’m not saying that I like it, but yeah, I don’t like it.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Ron.”

“Unlike my stupid older brother,” Ginny insists, leaning in close and completely disregarding her book, “I’m actually willing to listen to my friend. Now, tell me, what’s going on between you two?”

Hermione doesn’t know how to answer. For once, she is at a loss of words. She thinks back to the past few months and how she and Draco have steadily gotten closer despite their history -- not just in terms of their proximity but of how they’ve slowly gotten to know each other. She remembers telling him about the Muggle pills, something even she hid from Ginny and Luna because she didn’t want them to think that she was also having trouble sleeping. While his reaction might not have been the best, he hasn’t mentioned it ever since and for that, she’s immensely glad. He also told her of the reason for his return to Hogwarts and how he felt as Scorpius’ father. It clearly wasn’t easy to admit it to her but he had, and for that, she feels a strong sense of pride for being able to get under his skin. With the help of his son, of course. Without him, none of this would’ve happened…

She remembers what happened last night; how Ron grew angrier and angrier with each sly comment Draco made, how the slab of concrete slammed onto Draco’s head and created the small wound, how Scorpius looked at Ron and Harry, like everything he ever believed in has suddenly come down crashing. Even Blaise, easygoing and neutral Blaise, looked pissed at what had happened to his friend.

“Hermione?” Ginny prods, reaching out to touch her arm.

“Nothing is going on between me and Draco,” she says a little bit too quickly, blushing when Ginny’s gaze goes a little harsher, “Not that I know of. I’m only interested in Scorpius’ wellbeing.”

“Huh.” The redhead gives her another knowing look. “That’s not what Harry told me the other night.”

Hermione thinks back to last night. She remembers the fear that gripped her throat at the sight of Draco bleeding, how angry and upset she was at Ron for not _understanding_ that Draco would never help his father again, and the sadness at the sight of Scorpius looking at his father like he was going to die or something. When she remembers it now, she feels all of those strong emotions all over again. Still as strong as ever.

“Harry’s wrong,” is what she simply says, looking away.

“Hermione,” Ginny insists again as she lets out a forlorn sigh, “You can’t bullshit me. I’ve seen the two of you. He doesn’t look at you the same way he used to before.”

That particular comment interests Hermione more than she’d like to admit. “What do you mean?” she asks begrudgingly, not glancing into her friend’s eyes.

Apparently, Ginny must see right through her because she lets out a small triumphant ‘ _Aha!_ ’ and points at Hermione’s growing red cheeks, her mouth curving into a mischievous grin. “Do you like the fact that he looks at you differently?” the redhead interrogates, speaking faster than Hermione can open her mouth, “Do you purposely hang out with him just for Scorpius or because you’ve grown to tolerate his presence? Merlin, Hermione, could _you_ be the mysterious mother of his future son?”

It’s the last comment that startles Hermione the most. Her eyes grow wide at such a blatantly straightforward question. “ _What_ ?” she nearly yells, attracting the attention of many of the other students in the Great Hall, which she pays no mind to, “Are you _crazy_ ? There’s no way he or I could _ever_ get together and you know --”

“I’m the _crazy_ one?” Ginny scoffs, looking very offended, “You seriously haven’t thought of it? Scorpius’ brown eyes? How he likes books and all that nerdy stuff that you guys are into? The fact that he seems to cling to you every chance he gets? It’s a wonder you guys aren’t glued to the hip.” When Hermione doesn’t immediately respond to the allegations, Ginny’s eyes widen comically. “ _Seriously,_ Hermione? Honestly, they should be calling _me_ the Brightest Witch of Her Age.”

“No, no, _no_ ,” Hermione quickly mutters and her brain literally cannot comprehend this newfound information, “That’s not it. It’s just a _coincidence_ \--”

“You live in a world of magic and you still believe in _coincidences_ ?” Ginny gives her a smile, albeit a slightly confused one. “Anything is possible here. Merlin, Harry _died_ once and he came back. You really think there’s nothing else in this world that’s stranger than you and Malfoy getting together?”

An array of emotions wash over Hermione. At first, disgust at what Ginny is trying to get at but it’s only for a short instance. She’s only disgusted at the old Draco -- the bully, the spoiled kid, the teenager gone Death Eater -- but when she thinks of how far he’s gone and how much she’s changed, the disgust slowly morphs into confusion. Because as much as she hates to admit it, now that Ginny has flatout spelled the possibility that _she_ could be Scorpius’ mother, she can see why it’d be true. Finally, what settles at the pit of her stomach is fear. Because if it is true, then why would she ever leave her own son behind?

“It’s not possible,” she says firmly, even though the words feel like acid in her throat, “Draco would never settle below his… _standards_.”

Ginny sighs and shakes her head. Apparently giving up. “Whatever you say, Hermione.”

 _How could I abandon my own son_? Easy. She wouldn’t. She’d never leave Scorpius behind if she were his mother. Except that she isn’t. Of course she isn’t. There’s just no possible way she and Draco would ever end up having a child together. Perhaps in the future, Draco met somebody with the same traits as her, only Pureblood. Maybe that’s why Scorpius has brown eyes and loves to read and has a good heart within him.

 _Pureblood_. The thought reminds her of her own blood and knows that even if they were compatible, Draco would never look past her Muggleborn status.

She bites her lip, feeling the sting of truth in her bones. _Of course_. “I should get going,” she says, returning all of the notes and books she pulled out from her bag in the hopes that she could actually study here in the Great Hall, before the topic of Ron was brought up.

“Wait, hold on, Hermione.” Ginny stands up and quickly embraces her. “Seriously. Ron’s an idiot. He’ll come around.”

“And Harry?”

“He’s already over it.”

Hermione sincerely hopes so. It’s hard enough relying on letters for communication between all three of them for the past few months -- she can’t really stand the idea of not talking to them, when they’re just right there in front of her. Close enough to hold. She nearly lost Harry back at the Battle of Hogwarts; sometimes she has to remind herself that he’s really there and that there’s no looming threat over his head. As for Ron -- he still somehow blames himself for Fred’s death: for not being better, stronger or just _there_ during the moment of impact. It’s heartbreaking.

It’s been a few months now but they still hold the memories of war above their heads.

A stark reminder, really.

“I’ll talk to them later,” Hermione offers, letting out a sigh as she squeezes Ginny’s shoulder, “Thank you.”

Ginny nods at her. “Now, go forth and knock some sense into my brother.”

//

It’s easier said than done.

She finally corners her two best friends outside the Common Room after her usual rounds of patrol. Because they’re both no longer students, they get to walk around the place. The other students don’t have the same luxury in order to avoid suspicion after the resistance started happening. Since Ron probably thinks that Hermione’s waiting for him inside the Gryffindor lounge, he’s been roaming around the place with Harry. When the clock strikes at 10 PM, she finds them making their way to the sleeping Fat Lady, talking in hushed tones.

“I’ve caught you two,” Hermione says, announcing her presence.

Ron looks at her over Harry’s head and scowls. “Oh, it’s the _fraternizer_.”

“Sod off, Ronald.” She makes her way towards her two best friends, arms crossed, as she flicks her gaze between them. Harry’s face is more approachable but still apprehensive. Meanwhile, Ron looks at her like she’s personally offended his mother, not that she would ever want to. Molly Weasley is almost like her own mother, caring and strict all the way. “I need to talk to both of you. It’s been three days.”

“What happened? Did _Draco_ ditch you for one of his Death Eater friends?” Ron asks, shaking his head in disgust, “I’m telling you, Harry, he’s up to something. That’s probably why he’s got Hermione brainwashed into thinking that he’s good and shit.”

“I never said he was good,” Hermione shoots back, feeling angry all over again, “I only said that he’s trying to change.”

Harry gives her a doubtful look. “Is it because of Scorpius?”

The name stuns Hermione for half a second. It sounds foreign and strange in her best friend’s tongue but she schools her expression into a hopefully neutral one and slowly nods. “Yes,” she says, “Because of his son.”

“I can’t believe it,” Ron mumbles, snorting, “How the hell did Malfoy get somebody to actually marry him and start a family with? She must’ve been held at wandpoint or something.”

“Scorpius doesn’t know his mother,” Hermione states matter-of-factly and she remembers her own conversation with Ginny earlier. She pushes it out of mind, not wanting to dive into the possibilities and probabilities. “Neither does Malfoy. It’s a mystery for all of us and I would appreciate if you didn’t mention any of that in front of a child. You might as well traumatize him, Ron.”

Ron looks taken aback. “Wait a second,” he says, narrowing his bright blue eyes at her. Even Harry is looking at her curiously. “Don’t tell me -- you _care_ for the kid too?”

“Oh, please. If you knew Scorpius half as much as I did, then you’ll find that he’s an exceptionally smart --”

“Bloody hell.” Ron slaps Harry’s shoulder, looking baffled. “He’s really done a number on you huh? Was it the False Memory Charm? Did he Oblivate all of your bad memories of him or something? Added a Confounding Charm into the mix even? Why the hell are you hanging out with not just _one_ Malfoy but _two_? Jesus, Hermione, are you stupid?”

Harry’s eyes grow wide with alarm. “Ron, just to remind you, she’s just as good with a wand as with her words so you might not want --”

“ _How dare you_!” Hermione snaps, her anger rising like bile into her throat and constricting her airway, “How dare you insinuate that he did something to me? I can make my own conclusions and observations, Ronald. I don’t make my decisions based on a petty decade-old rivalry, especially when we’ve all been through something traumatic!”

Harry cuts in evenly, “That rivalry doesn’t just go away, Hermione.”    

“Funny,” she says, “I’m pretty sure Dumbledore would’ve said something different. You told me that he was willing to give Draco a chance back in that Tower.”

Immediately, Harry’s face flushes red. “Don’t,” he warns, “Don’t use Dumbledore against me. Malfoy is different. He’s been nothing but cruel to us. The only saving grace he has going for him is his mother.”        

“And yet he refused to identify you back at the Manor,” Hermione says and for a second, even she is surprised by her own statement. Back at the Malfoy Manor, she had been deathly terrified of everything that happened: the sight of Draco back then, looking pale as a sheet, had been unsettling.

“Have you forgotten that he nearly got us killed?” Ron questions in disbelief, ears growing bright red once more, “In the Room of Requirement!”

“I have not forgotten at all!”

“Then why are you stupid enough to believe that he could actually change?”

“Because Snape did!”

It’s those words that shut Harry up, his eyes wide with alarm and understanding. Ron persists, heedless of his best friend’s silence, “Malfoy is different from Snape -- he doesn’t love anybody but himself!”

Hermione flushes for some reason. She thinks of Scorpius then. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she mutters, “because contrary to what you might think, he actually cares for his son.”

Ron looks like he’s about to say something rude again, but Harry puts his hand out and gently pushes his best friend back. “You’ve met up with his kid?” the green-eyed boy asks, looking torn, “Like you’ve seen Malfoy act differently than he used to?”

“Yes,” Hermione answers confidently.

“He can’t go back to his own time yet?”

At this, Hermione falters. Since she’s spent the past few months getting to know the two Malfoys, some part of her has actually forgotten that Scorpius isn’t going to stay here for too long, that he’s part of the future and that he belongs to another Draco Malfoy and whoever his mother actually is… The thought saddens her greatly and her shoulders droop at this small realization. She wonders what would happen once he returns and if Draco will simply revert back to his old ways.

“Not yet,” Hermione mumbles, “McGonagall asked the Ministry to make a new Time-Turner, one that could hopefully get him back to his old time, but it’s taken months and it hasn’t been finished yet.”

Harry nods, staring at her. “Ginny talked to me,” he states, still holding Ron by the shoulder, “She told me about everything you said and how Malfoy hasn’t put one toe out of the line. I understand that, okay? You were also right about us training to be Aurors and needing to follow procedure. Once we get back to the field and gain more evidence against Lucius Malfoy, then we’ll ask Malfoy to stand as witness.”

“Are you _kiddin --_ ” Ron starts but Harry gives him a look.

“Thank you,” Hermione says meaningfully.

“But,” Harry begins and his green eyes go dark, “if he does anything fishy then I’ll personally put him to Azkaban.” His voice has a tinge of authority in it and Hermione practically glows at that. He’s going to be a great Auror someday, she can see it.

Ron growls, “I’ll be the one throwing away the key.”

Harry glances between him and her then back at the Fat Lady painting. “I think you two should talk.” With those final words, he quickly whispers the password and leaves through the passageway before his two best friends can utter another word.

Hermione looks at Ron who isn’t looking at her but at the ground with his arms crossed tightly across his chest. His ears are still as red as his hair. The anger she felt earlier dissipates into pity and sadness. What happened to them? She thinks back to the aftermath of their kiss back at the war and knows that it had been a mistake. They’re too different to be together and she can’t stop thinking of him as nothing more than her best friend, almost like a brother. Their first date hadn’t been the best and Hermione still can’t help but have this nagging feeling that the two of them together could only spell disaster.

“Ron,” she begins, stepping forward hesitantly.

“I have nothing to say to you that you don’t already know,” Ron grumbles, his jaw tight.

“Yes, you do.”

“Oh please. You’ve barely looked at me the whole time I’ve been back.”

“What are you talking about?”

Ron gives her a look. “I know what it feels like to be ignored,” he says, “I’ve practically felt it my whole life.”

Hermione furrows her eyebrows and leans against the wall of the Common Room, fidgeting with her nails. “If you think I’m ignoring you, then you got it all wrong.”

“ ‘Mione,” he says exasperatedly, using her nickname, “I’m pissed at you because of Malfoy but that’s not the only reason.”

“Don’t drag him into this then.”

“There you go. Defending him again.”

“What’s it to you if I defend him?” Hermione demands because she’s so _tired_ of arguing with her best friend about Draco Freaking Malfoy.

“Because you took his side!” After that outburst, Ron runs his fingers through his bright red hair, looking agitated and beyond pissed. Hermione doesn’t say anything, staring hard at him, at the dark jealousy in his blue eyes and the heavy way he takes his breaths. “It was between him and me -- and -- and you _fucking_ took his side!” he continues, ears growing brighter and redder, “And you -- you denied me. In front of _him_. You told him that you weren’t my girlfriend --”

“ _Because I’m not_ !” Hermione shrieks, losing her cool, because _fuck_ \-- this isn’t what she had in mind when she was going to talk to Ron. “I’m not your girlfriend -- I’m your best friend!”

Whatever she said seems to finally snap something inside Ron because he lets out a bark of laughter and rubs the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Merlin,” he mumbles, dropping his arms to his sides and shaking his head, “That’s exactly the problem.”

Hermione freezes. _Oh no_.

“I’m not stupid,” Ron says, looking like the fight has gone out of him, “I can tell when you don’t want something and you clearly don’t want this. I’ve known you since we were eleven.”

She wants nothing more than for the earth to swallow her whole. While she might be brave in every other aspect of her life, she hasn’t had the best luck in the romantic department. With Krum, it was very brief. The kind of puppy love she read from books. He was tall, dark and handsome but completely not fit for her. With Cormac -- Hermione shudders to even think about it, remembering his ego. She thought everything would be perfect with Ron but after the highs of the war finally faded and their disastrous first date ended, it was clear that friendship is the only thing she’d feel for him.

Apparently, he must realize her sentiments.

“Ron, I --” she starts to say and then realizes that she doesn’t actually know what to say.

“Wait, let me talk,” Ron mutters and puts his hands up, “I need to get this out of my chest.”

The look on his face silences her. She bites her lower lip and nods.

“After the war,” Ron begins, slumping against the wall, “I honestly thought everything between us would just fall into its rightful place. Like puzzle pieces, you know? But then with puzzles, you have to think things through. So we went to that date and every single thing that could’ve gone wrong did go wrong.”

Hermione remembers. The cancelled reservation. Her ruined dress. Ron’s wallet sitting back home on top of his dresser. Their awkward first time together back at her room — Ron fumbling with everything, Hermione itching to get to skin and then how it was all over too hard, too fast. Nothing like she thought. Or expected. The silent way Ron kissed her goodnight and left for the Burrow, because it was _too_ awkward. The heartbeat in her ears because she said nothing and stared at the ceiling until sleep overtook her. They never spoke of that night to anybody. Well, maybe Ron told Harry but she didn’t utter a single peep of it to her own friends. It was a mistake — Hermione realized it then. She remembers it now.

“It was our first time,” she mumbles, “Things were bound to be… awkward.”

“That was a week before we started Death Eater hunting,” Ron states, staring at the floor, “and you only came up to me on the day of the departure. You didn’t talk to me the rest of the days. Even Harry noticed.”

She winces, biting the inside of her cheek. “You didn’t too,” she whispers, “I waited for you. I thought if we talked things through, everything would be like the way it used to be.”

“Ever since Fred…” Ron chokes up, looking away. When he meets Hermione’s eyes once more, his are shining. “Things are never going to be like they used to. I just thought you and I would…”

“Oh.”

Ron doesn’t immediately respond. He lets out a soft sigh and approaches her quietly. She looks up at him, slightly craning her neck to get a good look at his features. His blue eyes assess hers carefully. His warm smile doesn’t quite reach them. “Your letters,” he says, changing the subject, “You never sent one to me. It was always for Harry and me. I guess you didn’t have anything to say.”

“It’s not like that at all, Ron.” But it is. Hermione just doesn’t know how to tell him that. For the past decade, she has always told Ron every important thing that came to mind, but for some reason, she can’t tell him that she doesn’t love him that way.

“Really? Then why have you been avoiding me for the past few months?” Ron asks, clearly hurt. “I might not be as smart as you, Hermione, but being ignored is something that I’ve grown used to. I can definitely tell when it’s coming from my best friend.”

“I haven’t been avoiding you --”

“Yes, you have!”

“I --” Conceding defeat, Hermione runs a timid hand through her brown curls and lets out a huge sigh. Tears spring to her eyes. “Okay. Fine. I might’ve been. I don’t know, Ron, I don’t look at you as anything other than my best friend and I’m really sorry about that -- but I don’t think we’re ready for a relationship yet. We’re both still healing from the war and you know how it gets, right? Please tell me you understand what I’m talking about.”

She’s slightly aware of the hysteric tone her voice has taken. Because as much as she doesn’t want to ruin her relationship with Ron, she knows that saying the truth might hurt the friendship that they have. And she doesn’t want that. Ron is her best friend. Her dearest one. The one who constantly defended her against the likes of Snape and Malfoy, the one who valued her ideas above anybody else’s, the one who asked to switch places with her when Bellatrix was torturing her… The idea of losing him over her feelings -- it crushes her.

“Okay,” Ron mumbles, his eyes red around the edges as he nods, “I can respect that.”

“Ron, please don’t let this change anything between us --” she starts to say, her throat clogging up, but she is cut off when he just shakes his head.

“I don’t know about you, Hermione, but this changes a whole fucking lot.” He glances at the Fat Lady painting. “I have to go. I -- I guess I’ll -- I’ll see you around.”

Hermione freezes, her tears spilling over her. “Wait, _no_ ,” she begins, reaching out for him only to have him swiftly dodge her touch. Her heart stutters. “Don’t leave angry, Ron. _Please_. If you have anything to say to me, say it now. Just… just don’t let it end like this.”

He shakes his head again. “See you around.” With that, he says the password to the Common Room and stumbles inside. The Fat Lady painting shuts firmly behind him, leaving Hermione to stare at the woman giving her a disbelieving look through bleary eyes, apparently having just woken up amidst her and Ron’s argument.

“Honey,” the painting tells her, “give him time.”

Hermione lets out a small defeated sigh, having half the mind to chase Ron up the boys’ dormitory. But she doesn’t. Wiping off her tears with the sleeves of her robes, she thinks back to what he said. _Being ignored is something I’ve grown used to_. He’s always felt like the least favorite child. And now with the death of Fred months prior, he’s been grieving with his family. To think that some part of him might’ve looked at Hermione for comfort only to have her enroll in Hogwarts for an entire year simply because she wanted a degree -- it must’ve hit him hard.

Her entire chest feels like it’s going to fall apart. Turning away from the Common Room, she lets her feet lead her away. At first, she doesn’t know where she’s going. She just knows that she needs to _breathe_. After everything that’s happened in the war -- with the loss of so many family and friends, like Fred, Tonks, Remus and Colin and for a moment, even her parents -- she has always told herself to be strong. For Harry and Ron. It was harder on Harry because he felt as if all those deaths could’ve been avoided if he had turned himself in sooner, but they can’t change anything now.

She can’t change everything that she told Ron. Has she made a mistake? Did she just throw away a perfectly good relationship simply because of one bad first date? She doesn’t know. And not knowing has always been like a chip on her shoulder. It makes her question things and go crazy trying to figure out if she’s right or not. But her feelings aren’t definite. It’s not like answers that she can just find in books. It’s not like that. It’s a lot more complicated than that.

She finds herself at the bottom steps of the Astronomy Tower. It’s late. Filch might catch her. Even her Head Girl status doesn’t shield her from the wary eyes of the caretaker. But she needs to breathe. And think. And reach out for Dumbledore. She can imagine what he might say once he finds her in this position. _Oh, to be young and to feel love’s keen sting._ She climbs the stairs with her head down and her tears still falling.

The first thing she feels when she’s at the top is the rush of wind greeting her. It’s a welcome feeling, one that quickly relaxes her. But then she sees the figure leaning against the railing of the balcony and the tensions returns.

“Malfoy,” she says, her breath hitching.

The Slytherin slowly turns around. He looks like he hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep with his blonde hair tousled and the dark shadows under his eyes still very prominent. He’s wearing the same clothes she saw him in earlier in the afternoon when they passed by each other which means that he might not have had any plans of sleeping tonight to begin with.

The sight of him almost makes her forget about Ron.

“Granger.” His tone holds a small amount of surprise in it. “This is the last place I’d expect to see you here.”

She cautiously moves to the side. “I didn’t think you’d be here too.”

The moon behind him lights his sharp features in a way that softens his look. “You and me both,” he says quietly. He turns away to look up at the night sky, which Hermione takes as a good sign to take a step closer.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she says.

“You are,” Draco grumbles but it’s without his usual bite. Instead, he sounds resigned. “You’re an unwelcome presence, Granger, but I’m not asking you to leave. It’s not my place to do so.”

Hermione nods to herself. She takes a step closer until she’s standing directly next to him on the railing facing the open sky. It’s quiet and cool, the wave of fresh air sending goosebumps up her arms. She tilts her head up, the same way Draco did, and watches the array of stars that litter the night sky. Recognizing some of the constellations she used to study as a kid, she feels the distress of the earlier evening slowly ebb away. Of course, Ron’s words still weigh heavily inside her chest but for some reason, it’s not as heavy with Draco standing next to her.

Her eyes search the starry sky, specifically looking for something. _There_. Just in between Libra and Sagittarius. One of the brightest constellations on a clear night.

“ _Scorpius_ ,” Hermione whispers and Draco glances at her.

“You know your stars,” he says, sounding a bit annoyed, “Is there anything you don’t know?”

“Quantum physics.”

“I’m not even going to ask.”

A calm silence settles over them. Hermione tentatively places her hands on the railing and wonders what Draco thinks when he stands here. In the very place where he lost his innocence. Where he changed. For better or for worse, she’s not entirely certain. Some part of her wants to ask why he’s here because she knows that this is the last place he’d want to be in. And yet -- here he is. Facing his fear. Charging at it straight on.

How admirable.

“What you did back then,” Draco says suddenly, crossing his arms and shifting his weight from one foot to another. He clears his throat, avoids her curious gaze. “With Potter and Weasley. You just pissed them off.”

“I was doing the right thing,” Hermione shoots back but her voice shakes when she thinks about Ron all over again. _Because you took his side!_

“The right thing,” the Slytherin repeats, like it’s a foreign concept. He scoffs. “You and your Gryffindor _values_. The right thing you should’ve done was let him have a go at me. It’s what I deserve, after all. After everything I’ve done to you and your stupid friends.”

Hermione raises her eyebrows in surprise. Sure, she’s seen Draco in one of his worst moments, like when they were captured at the Manor or when he asked for her help about his son, but she’s never imagined him owning up to what he’s done and being so accepting about his fate as a pariah. It’s one of those rare moments again -- where everything that Hermione knows about Draco suddenly shifts and reframes itself.

Maybe he is capable of remorse.

“That wouldn’t have been the right thing,” she mumbles.

“Nobody gives a rat ass about the right thing anymore,” he snaps, shaking his head, “There’s no black and white in this world, Granger. Only grey.”

“Is this how you’re going to thank me?” Hermione questions incredulously, a little miffed.

Draco’s jaw tightens. “Take it or leave it.”

Silence again. Hermione lets out a soft sigh and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“How’s Scorpius?” she asks.

“Asleep.”

“How did he take it?”

Draco gives her a questioning look, grey eyes glassy. “About?”

Hermione shrugs. She can piece two and two together. Her advice on telling Scorpius the truth about his role in the war was something that Draco considered and during the night Harry and Ron returned, Draco and Scorpius looked like they had just returned from a serious talk. Besides, she remembers the look on Draco’s face when his son came to his rescue at the hands of her best friends. Like he almost couldn’t believe it was happening in the first place.

“You told him, didn’t you?” Hermione asks again. “Everything.”

He doesn’t answer, which is an answer in itself.

“I’m glad that you did,” she presses, biting her lower lip, “I’m sure he appreciated it.”

“He still thinks I’m good,” Draco says after a moment, “despite everything that I told him.”

Hermione faces him then. He wears a troubled expression, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth tugged at the corners. She tries to match him with the old Malfoy -- the bully, the spoiled rich kid, the boy who made the wrong choice -- and sees just how much he’s changed over the war. Something in her chest tightens. Like a fist has suddenly grabbed a hold of her heart and squeezed it tight.

“Well, children are a better judge of character,” Hermione tells him, smiling slightly.

Draco just nods at her response. He glances back at the stars in the night sky, no doubt staring at Scorpius. She does the same but this time, she looks for his namesake. Draco is nestled in between Ursa Major and Lyra, a pattern of lights that make it one of the largest constellations. Draco. The Dragon. She never particularly liked it after meeting him in first year, when the first thing she saw him do was insult Ron on his financial status. Things have changed. She stares at the stars that take up the constellation, silently counting.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you now?” the Slytherin suddenly asks.

Hermione gives him a strange look. “What?”

“You told me once why you came here,” Draco reminds her impatiently, “Because you felt to lost you had to go and search for Dumbledore. Like the sentimental Gryffindor that you are.” The look he gives her screams _don’t bullshit me_. “Besides, your eyes are red. You look like Weasley just broke up with you or something.”

She doesn’t respond immediately so Draco pushes on, “Look, I’m not telling you that this is sissy hour or anything but --” He pauses and closes his eyes like he’s about to say something stupid. Which he does. “But in return for what you did for me with your friends Dumb and Dumber, you are allowed to talk my ear off with your problems then we’ll promise never to speak of this again. Agreed?”

A laugh comes out of Hermione’s mouth, sudden and surprising. “What a miracle,” she remarks, “Draco Malfoy -- actually willing to listen to a Muggleborn?”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t make this into a habit, Granger.”

"I won't push my luck, Malfoy." Hermione ducks her head, feeling her cheeks warm, "But I will have to decline your offer. It's getting late. We have classes tomorrow."

The Slytherin nods once, looking slightly relieved. "Of course," is what he just says.

Hermione glances once more at the night sky and decides to save her question of the Malfoy's history of naming their kids after constellation for another time. If there is a next time. She has a feeling that she's going to see Draco a lot more in the next few days and she's not entirely sure whether it excites her or not.

"I'll see you around," she tells him, looking into his grey eyes, as she walks away from the railing.

Draco stares at her for a long time. "Do you still take your Muggle pills?" he asks all of a sudden.

Hermione falters. "Yes."

"Good." With those final words, he turns his back to her and resumes his position underneath the stars, the glow of the moonlight turning his blonde hair to silver. Hermione hovers by the door with her hand on the wall, watching him and knowing that he knows she's there. She thinks of how different he is now — quiet and composed but also unfairly lonely — and is glad that Scorpius has somehow found a way to melt the ice off his heart.

Love has that kind of effect on people, she supposes, turning away and leaving Malfoy once again conflicted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> COMMENT YOUR THOUGHTS OR ELSE I LOSE MY MOTIVATION AND LEAVE THIS STORY UNFINISHED LMAO LOVE YOU ALL
> 
> Love, Mia.


	17. Owl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, everybody. I was just kidding about my last notes in the previous chapter. I really don't plan on leaving this story unfinished. I just have way too many ideas that are just bursting in my head right now and it really means a lot for you guys to keep pushing me to keep writing. Cause we have to admit, writing is definitely tough. Also, I would also like to tell you guys that I'll be graduating college this Monday as Cum Laude!!! I'm very excited, which means that I might not be able to post new chapters immediately since I'll be moving cities and etc. Anyway, enough about me.
> 
> Enjoy this chapter!

 

> _“I don't remember who said this, but there really are places in the heart you don't even know exist until you love a child.”_   
> ― Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions, A Journal of My Son's First Year

 

* * *

 

The letter has been in Scorpius’ hands for half an hour now. Ever since he found it under his bed at the Slytherin dorms, he’s been trying to wrap his mind about what it could possibly mean. It’s nothing new, actually. It’s just the letter he found back at the Manor, the letter from the Archive room. It must’ve fallen from his robes when he went to change into the ones the house elves brought him. The sight of it makes him remember just how long he’s been stuck in this timeline. Four months. Four months without his Father or Grandmother or even Uncle Blaise. Of course, they’re still here but it’s not the same. They’re not the same people yet. The ache of missing home hits him squarely between the eyes and he blinks away the tears before they fall onto the parchment. 

“ _ M _ ,” he reads aloud, his fingers shaking as he grips the letter,  _ “she’s fine, but it’s safer if you don’t talk to her. People are listening. H _ .” 

He knows without a doubt that this is a clue. This is something that is meant to be hidden. There’s no stamp, no sigil, nothing that can be used to trace back to the original owner. The first time he read it, he thought there was something odd about the  _ H _ . Like there was a deeper meaning to it. Until now, he can still feel it. He traces his thumb over the letter and thinks of Hermione.

Did this letter come from her?

He’s not so sure. He’s never actually seen her handwriting before and besides, who would the ‘ _ she _ ’ in the letter be referring to if it wasn’t Hermione? Other than the M, which Scorpius is sure stands for Malfoy, there isn’t anything else he can get from this. Just more questions piling up on top of each other. None without any good answers. 

Letting out a sigh, he tucks the letter back into his robes and prepares himself for the trip to the Headmistress’ Office. Draco said that there’s something Professor McGonagall wants to tell him. He hopes that what awaits him there will be good news. There’s not much he knows about Time-Turners but he doubts that staying here for too long would warrant for any good developments in the future. The thought of Father crosses his mind and he wonders if he’s okay and if he shares the same hole in Scorpius’ chest that started when they were ripped apart. 

There’s no use in thinking about things that he has no control over so Scorpius slides out of the bed, puts on his shoes and leaves the comfort of the dorm. Draco and Blaise are at the library today, doing homework before the holidays end, so he’s all alone. He also hasn’t seen Hermione around that much, including Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. The thought of those two makes his stomach squirm. He’s always looked at them as heroes in the future but with how they treated his father, well, it doesn’t sit well with him. Heroes don’t do that to people, even if they  _ might  _ be villains. 

As he passes by countless other students on the way to the Headmistress’ Office, he allows his brain to remember everything that Draco has told him about his life. His most pressing questions were answered that night -- about why Draco was an outcast, why he was so angry about being a father, why he thinks he isn’t worth saving -- and it’s a lot for him to take in. The idea of Father almost killing somebody makes his heart race. But somehow, it doesn’t change anything. He looks at Draco now and sees somebody who is going to be his dad. Surely, there are some things that are bound to change in the future. 

He understands Father a little more now. Why he always stays up late. Why he’s always alone at the Manor. Why he rarely talks about himself. Scorpius can see that he’s ashamed of what he’s done. Scorpius wants to shake him sometimes. Yes, a part of Draco should be ashamed but he shouldn’t let his life become a cost for his mistakes. 

Even though Draco has laid out everything to him, there are still some answers that has eluded Scorpius. After everything that he’s been told, he is still no closer to discovering the identity of his mother. He’s banked everything on the thought that it could be Hermione but with how she is with his father, he’s doubting the possibility of it. They always seem to bicker whenever they’re together and Scorpius just wants nothing more than for them to shut up about their differences and actually see that they might be compatible together. It would be like Romeo and Juliet even! 

Perhaps he’s being biased but he can see why they’d be good together. Hermione is a product of her Gryffindor values but she somehow sees the good in everything. She defended Draco against her own friends and apologized on their behalf. Meanwhile, Draco has this annoying habit of not thanking people for saving his life and for thinking that he’s not good enough to be saved. Hermione could draw him back into the light, however unwilling he may be. 

Scorpius thinks back to the way Hermione had looked at Draco’s injuries after his brush with Ron. How utterly devastated she was at the sight of him bleeding. The tears in her eyes when she whispered  _ you don’t deserve to be treated like this _ . They might always fight whenever they’re in the same room but nobody -- not even Draco -- could deny that there’s a small part of Hermione that cares for him. 

A flurry of hope bursts in Scorpius’ chest as he rounds the corner leading to the Headmistress’ Office -- 

\-- and slams straight into a person holding a stack of letters in his hands.  

Scorpius falls on his back and covers his face with his arms when the pile of letters come pouring down on him. He can hear a distinctly male voice muttering ‘oh, crap’ as he raises his head to assess the situation. When his eyes meet bright green ones, he pauses, remembering the last time he encountered this person.

Harry Potter gets up first and extends his hand for him to take. “Sorry, kid,” he says sheepishly. “I didn’t see you there.” 

Scorpius looks at the outstretched hand, tightens his jaw and stands up on his own. 

The Boy Who Lived looks amused. “I see that you have your father in you,” he remarks, shrugging. 

“I don’t like people who hurt my dad,” Scorpius grumbles. 

“Malfoy has also hurt a lot of people.” Harry doesn’t look him in the eye as he bends down to pick up his fallen letters. Scorpius steps aside. “Has he told you that?” 

“Yes.”

The look of surprise that flashes across Harry’s face doesn’t go unnoticed. Scorpius can’t help the smirk that plays at his lips. 

“Well, that’s definitely a shocker. He doesn’t seem the type of person who shares stuff like that,” the Gryffindor says, glancing down at his letters, “I actually wanted to see you for myself. It’s not everyday you get to see somebody from the future.” 

“It’s not everyday I get to meet the infamous Harry Potter,” Scorpius retorts flippantly. 

“Don’t set your expectations up too high, kid.” 

Scorpius nods, already wanting to leave. He doesn’t know what to feel facing Harry Potter. He’s never actually met him in person in his own timeline and he doubts that he ever will, seeing with his own eyes just how deeply the rivalry between him and his father run. 

“Are you going to the Headmistress’ Office?” Harry asks. 

“Yeah.” Scorpius nods. “She told me it was something important.” 

“I just dropped by her office. The Ministry called her in all of a sudden. I’m sure that somebody’s going to come and tell you that your meeting is postponed -- ”

Almost as if on cue, a house elf suddenly shows up right behind Harry’s robes. “Mister Malfoy,” he says in a squeaky voice, “The Headmistress is currently in an emergency meeting with the Minister of Magic. She apologizes for the late notice and hopes that you understand. She will see you immediately tomorrow at 10 AM. Goodbye, Mister Malfoy.” 

The house elf scurries away. Scorpius notices the forlorn look on Harry’s face and decides to pry further, “You don’t have to look so bad about it.” 

“Oh.” Harry sheepishly looks away. “I was just thinking of an old friend.” 

The meeting with Professor McGonagall was the only reason he got out of the dorm in the first place so now he’s suddenly left with nothing to do. He thinks about the  _ Hogwarts: A History  _ book he left behind in his bed and resigns himself to an afternoon spent at the library once again. Maybe he can annoy Draco or Blaise while they’re doing homework. Maybe he can even ask Hermione for help regarding the whole Time-Turner situation. He’s about to turn away from Harry when the older boy suddenly asks, 

“Hey, you’re not busy, are you?” 

Scorpius glances at him over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. Harry wears an expression of slight embarrassment. “I mean,” he begins, “I could use some help with these letters, if you’re not busy.” 

Scorpius really shouldn’t. He doesn’t know Harry that well and besides, his anger towards his father might pass onto him. There’s something nagging at the back of his mind. Call it instinct or something but he feels as if he could learn a thing or two about his father if he goes with Harry. What is it about The Boy Who Lived that made Draco hate him in the first place? So he schools his expression into a hopefully neutral one and nods his consent. 

"Why do you have so many letters in the first place?" he asks, getting half of what Harry has in his hands.

"I have a lot of people to update on," Harry answers, leading the way to the Owlery, "When I was off helping the Ministry with the resistance, I didn't get much time to tell them what I've been up to. Besides, my letters might've been intercepted by the rogue Death Eaters — " 

"So do you still think my father'’s a Death Eater?" Scorpius cuts in abruptly. 

Harry glances sharply at him, caught off guard. "No," he says with a kind of uncertainty that Scorpius hears as clear as day, “I mean, I would like to believe that he isn’t but you have to understand, kid, that Malfoy has always been keen on following his father’s footsteps.” 

“Are you trying to say that I’ll end up like him too?” 

They reach the stairs leading to the West Tower. Already, Scorpius can hear the chirps of owls resonating from upstairs and feels the cool breeze of the winter atmosphere radiating through the air. He can even see some icicles forming underneath the high ceilings and chastises himself for not bringing a sweater. Father always tells him to bring one during the winter months -- perhaps this is what happens when they’ve been far apart for so long. 

Harry gives him a long look. “No,” he says afterwards, taking the first few steps towards the Owlery, “I would also like to believe that we are not our parents.” 

“He’s mine,” Scorpius retorts, firmly rooted in his place at the foot of the tower. Harry stops when he realizes that he isn’t being followed. 

“I know,” is what the older boy answers, his eyebrows drawn together, “I pardoned him and his mother after the war but not his father. There’s a reason why. I don’t trust Lucius Malfoy, which is why I’ve been very cautious about trusting Draco.” 

“Hermione trusts him.” 

At these words, Harry fully faces the child, puzzlement and confusion crossing his features. He runs his fingers through his hair and Scorpius sees the lightning-shaped scar on his temple: the symbol of his being The Boy Who Lived and wonders quietly to himself if it still hurts every now and then. Scorpius knows that magical scars often have a lasting side-effect. He read it in his books. 

“I can’t fathom why,” Harry admits, letting out a huge sigh, “You might have something to do with that. Hermione doesn’t hold grudges as much as I do but she’s too naive to listen to rational thought -- ”

“Are you seriously calling  _ Hermione  _ naive?” Scorpius asks and makes a face. Harry might be the one who thwarted Lord Voldemort but he sure is thick. 

A similar expression finds its way into Harry’s face and he lets out a small bark of laughter, rubbing at his eyes and shaking his head. “You’re right,” he muses, “I think I might not be getting enough sleep. Hermione’s usually the level-headed one out of all the three of us.” He gestures for the child to follow him and after a moment, Scorpius does. They trudge up the stairs to the Owlery and when Scorpius lets his eyes roam around, he can see that most of the owls are in hibernation, except for a few snowy owls, which perk up at the sight of the visitors. 

“Owls are usually asleep at this time,” Scorpius points out, finally looking down at the letters in his hands, “You’ll only be able to use at least two of the awakes ones, I guess.” 

Harry lets out a sound of acknowledgement. “I know,” he says, “but it’s really important that I send a few of these. Filch won’t mind, I hope.” 

Scorpius lets his eyes skim over the names of the address. Most of them are addressed to the  _ Weasleys _ . He even finds one meant for a  _ Andromeda Tonks  _ and can’t help but feel a tinge of familiarity at that. In his mind’s eye, he recalls an image of a burned off painting with the same name under it. Hesitating slightly, he shows the letter to Harry and asks, “Who is this person? Andromeda Tonks?” 

Harry raises his eyebrow, attaching a bunch of letters to an owl’s leg and making sure that it isn’t too heavy. “That’s Malfoy’s aunt,” he says so casually, not noticing the wide-eyed look that befalls Scorpius’ features.  _ He has a great-aunt _ ? Something inside his chest breaks apart at this news. All his life, he has always looked up to Father, Uncle Blaise and Grandma as his only family. His own mother’s absence hurts but this new revelation -- the fact that he has other immediate family that he knew nothing about -- is like rubbing salt to a fresh wound. 

The silence must’ve gotten to Harry because the older boy glances at him with a worried furrow to his eyebrows. “Is something the matter?” he asks. 

“I -- ” Scorpius shakes his head lamely, still staring at the letter. “I didn’t -- didn’t know -- know that I had a great au -- aunt.” His stutter gets the best of him and he has to swallow the painful lump in his throat to actually breathe. 

“Oh.” Harry pauses, realizing what he must’ve said. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“It’s okay.” Even though it stings,  Scorpius can’t really blame him for unveiling some semblance of his messed up family history. He skims through the other letters again, trying very hard not to mind Harry’s staring. “Father and I can catch up when I get back to the future.” 

There’s another tense moment as Scorpius determinedly reads the addresses of the letters even though his brain isn’t connecting to what he’s reading. Half a moment later, he hears Harry scuffling around the Owlery before he comes to stand next to him, a hesitant hand touching his shoulder lightly. 

“Hey,” Harry says, his tone soft, “I get what you’re feeling right now. When I was a kid, I didn’t know that I had other family members to look out for. It was always just my aunt and uncle who took care of me. Barely, anyway."  

Scorpius tries not to feel resentful at this. Here is Draco’s most bitter rival, feeling absolutely sorry for him and telling him that they have something in common. It almost feels like a betrayal to his own father. He sniffles, hoping the sound doesn’t catch wind in Harry’s ears, and refocuses on the letters again. 

He reads the one meant for  _ Rubeus Hagrid  _ and has to pause. 

_ Wait _ . 

That  _ H _ there. It’s familiar. Much more familiar than  _ Andromeda Tonks _ . He looks up at Harry and finds worried green eyes staring back at him. A question starts growing at the back of his mind and he has trouble actually connecting it to the existing ones he already has. 

“Are you okay?” Harry asks. 

“What -- ” Scorpius struggles to think clearly. His heart is still heavy from learning about his great-aunt but there’s just something about that stupid  _ H  _ in  _ Hagrid _ that makes his head spin. “Can -- wait, can you tell me some -- something?” 

Harry nods, albeit slightly confused, as he takes his letters and attaches them to the next owl. “Sure.” 

It takes another few seconds for Scorpius to calm his breathing and another minute for him to realize that he actually has something for reference. He rummages inside his Slytherin robes and finds the letter he acquired from Father’s Archive Room a few months ago. It’s almost  _ magical  _ that it showed up again in his most desperate of times. When he pulls it out, he almost hesitates in showing it to Harry, remembering the Headmistress’ rules regarding future events, but tells himself that it’s only a simple question that might not even hold any bearing for what happens next.

“Is this your handwriting?” he asks the older boy, showing him the letter with the cryptic message. 

Harry reads the contents, his eyebrows furrowing once more. “I suppose so,” he admits, “I don't remember writing it though. Would you like me to rewrite it to make sure?” 

Scorpius nods, his mind still racing. Harry stands up to find a table to write on, pulling a quill from his pocket and quickly rewriting the words stamped in the letter on another piece of parchment he manages to find in his robes. When he finishes, he gives it Scorpius who stares at his handwriting.

While the rest of the letters are very similar, the ‘y’s and ‘g’s are exactly the same. 

“Is this supposed to be a good thing?” Harry asks him.

Scorpius doesn't really know what to think, except for the fact that there is a  _ connection _ . Harry sent this letter to his father in the future. Well, he's going to anyway. Trying not to think about the whole time paradox thing, he puts the letters back into his pockets and gives Harry a hesitant smile. "It's good," he says, "Thank you."  

Harry's eyebrows draw together. "You don't look too good," he murmurs.

"I'm fine." 

"Okay.” The older boy doesn’t look convinced. He gestures around the Owlery. “We should get going. I’m going to freeze up here the longer we stay.” 

Scorpius follows Harry out of the tower. When they reach the bottom step, he is more than surprised to encounter Draco rounding a corner of the next corridor, with Blaise in tow. Both Slytherins don’t notice him at first, deep in conversation, but then Harry actually goes out of his way to take a step forward and raise his hand in a sort of wave, expression still as sheepish as ever, and Draco nearly jumps out of his skin. 

“Don’t fucking do  _ that _ , Potter,” Draco grumbles, glaring at him. 

“Right,” Harry says. “Sorry.” 

Scorpius comes down from the stairwell and stands next to Blaise, shooting him a bright grin. Draco spares him a glance and then his glare at Harry darkens, if it’s even possible. They’re in the middle of a sparse and dimly lit hallway, with a few students walking by and glancing at them every now and then. One could taste the tension in the air. Scorpius glances at the windows showing the sky and sees that the weather has gone gloomy. 

“Well, who would’ve thought?” Blaise remarks, “A Malfoy and a Potter looking like they’re friends. I didn’t think I’d get to see the day again.” 

“There was a never a day to begin with,” Draco snaps, his jaw tightening. “What do you want, Potter?” The way he says it -- thick with annoyance and hatred -- makes Scorpius pause. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Father say something with such venom in his voice. 

Harry sighs. “I wanted to apologize,” he says, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else in the world than here, “I shouldn’t have acted out like that when your father was found doing incriminating things. It wasn’t in my jurisdiction to do so.” 

Scorpius looks up at his young father hopefully, who scoffs. “Piss off,” Draco grumbles, “You can do whatever you want, whatever jurisdiction you may or may not have, because you’re the one who saved the bloody world, Potter. You could walk all over dipshits like me everyday and the public will think you’re a hero for doing so.” 

Something dark passes through Harry’s face but it’s only for a brief moment. It is replaced with a look of utter exhaustion and exasperation. “I get that we’re never going to be anything more than past enemies, Malfoy,” the Gryffindor states with a tone of resignation, running his fingers through his unruly dark hair, “but I would like to think that I can look at you from a certain point of view and not think that you’re up to something.” 

Draco smirks, sharing a knowing glance with Blaise. “I would also like to think that you’re not full of shit,” he says. 

“Mate, there’s a kid over here so you might want to -- ”

“Suit yourself,” Harry snaps, interrupting Blaise. The Boy Who Lived looks grumpy, eyes turning dark as he stares Draco down. “I pardoned you after the war happened. Don’t make me regret it.” He turns around to walk away but not before glancing over his shoulder at Scorpius and offering him a gentle smile, his green orbs going soft. Scorpius decides that he likes Harry better when he’s smiling -- he looks like a regular teenager, not a war hero who conquered one of the greatest wizards in the century. 

“Thanks for helping me out today, Scorpius,” Harry says and then looks at Draco once again, “He believes that you’re good. Don’t let it go to waste.” 

All three Slytherins watch Harry walk away. Scorpius rubs the back of his neck, noticing Draco’s tense shoulders and the rigid hand on his hip before easily recognizing it as one of the infamous poses Father always took before he scolded Scorpius for playing outside for too long or for breaking something that had some sort of family history. Biting his lower lip and carefully walking backwards as to not be caught or reprimanded, he only manages a few steps before Blaise blocks his way and laughs when he almost stumbles. 

“You’re not going anywhere, kid,” the older Slytherin says.

“Rule number one of being a Malfoy,” Draco tells Scorpius, whipping around and shaking his head in disappointment, “We will always hate Harry Potter.”

Scorpius sighs. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “He was just helping me out with a few things.” 

“You broke the dad code,” Blaise utters, sounding betrayed even though there’s a large smile on his face,, “Father’s rivalries are our own. Isn’t that why you’ve got a shitty relationship with Weaselbee, Draco?”

“That’s because he’s also pretty shitty.” 

“Rule number two?” 

Draco nods seriously, even though there is mirth dancing in his eyes. “We will always hate the Weasels too.”

Scorpius takes note of this, slightly relieved that he wasn’t really scolded for hanging out with Harry. Besides, it wasn’t really Harry who hurt his father during their argument outside in the courtyard -- it had been Ron Weasley. The thought of him leaves a bad taste in Scorpius’ tongue and he finds that he doesn’t really have any objection to Rule No. 2. It’s only the first one that he is uncertain about, since Harry seems like a pretty cool guy. When he nods to show his understanding of the two rules that Draco just literally pulled out of his butthole, the two older Slytherins both pat him on either shoulder. 

“Anyway,” Draco says gruffly, shooting Scorpius a scathing look, “What the bloody hell were you guys talking up there?” 

There’s a moment of hesitation, one where Scorpius actually debates telling Draco about the whole thing regarding the letter from the Archive Room, but ultimately decides against it. It’s not his place to start messing up with the timeline. Besides, he doesn’t really know what it means if it’s Harry’s handwriting on that letter years into the future. It could mean anything. Then he remembers that they were talking about a  _ ‘she _ ’ and a flurry of hope overtakes his chest when he realizes that even though it’s a flimsy connection, it’s one that ties all of them with Hermione Granger. 

“Nothing,” Scorpius answers, grinning at his father, “Just owls.” 

Draco obviously doesn’t believe him. He doesn’t push it, however. When they drop by the kitchens for a little afternoon snack a while later, Scorpius tugs on Blaise’s pants while Draco isn’t looking. 

“Hey,” he says, gesturing for Blaise to kneel down, “I was wondering if we could talk about our little theory -- ”

“You mean the one where you think Hermione Granger,  _ of all people _ , is your mother?” Blaise wears a humorous expression. Thankfully, it’s not the same expression he wore when Scorpius first confessed this theory, where he thought the kid might’ve been a little  _ too  _ optimistic about the pairing. “Yeah. What about it, kid? You’ve got some evidence?” 

Scorpius hesitates once again. “I wouldn’t call it evidence,” he mumbles, “but maybe it’s a connection.” He thinks about everything he’s seen so far -- how Hermione Granger seems to fit all of the clues presented to him by Father, the way they’ve slowly melted around each other’s presence, Hermione defending Draco in front of her own friends, and then the  _ letter _ \-- tying all of them together in a knot that seems far too much like fate instead of coincidence. This is where the past meets the future. Again, Scorpius wonders why something universally bad hasn’t happened yet -- he’s read way too much Muggle books about the idea of time travel and they don’t usually end that well. 

Blaise brings his attention back to the topic at hand. “Are you sure you’re not  _ making up  _ a connection?” 

“Yes,” Scorpius snaps, a little hurt that Blaise would think that. “I wanted to show it to you. Can we meet up tomorrow morning? Someplace not too crowded?” 

Blaise thinks about it, eyeing Draco who has his back turned on them. “The Lake,” he suggests, “Nobody really shows up there in the morning.”   

The two of them confirm their plans, right in time for Draco to turn around with a lemon cake he managed to coax from the house elves in his hands. “I just remembered our house elf Dobby,” he mutters, looking perplexed, “I wonder where he went.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not really sure if this is a filler chapter since it helps to move the plot forwards a bit. Still, I really wanted Harry and Draco to meet up again in calmer circumstances. 
> 
> Btw, I just realized that I don't really have a face for Scorpius in my head. I also imagine him to be the younger Tom Felton in the earlier movies but if I had to pick a fancast, it would definitely be Henrik Holm. A younger version, though.
> 
> Anyway who would YOU fancast as Scorpius???


End file.
